It's Just Business
by ratsister
Summary: 1920 Chicago. The Mafioso & devoted Capo v. the U.S Agent, the Bolshevik soldier, & a complex world of enemies & family. The only thing certain in a world of violence & crime: not everyone will come out alive. Ger/Ita, Rus/Ame, Pru/Can. AU, Human names
1. Chapter 1

_Hey there! This is my first go at fan fiction - I welcome your reviews, in fact, I implore you for them!_

_Firstly, I don't own Hetalia, etc._

_Plot summary:_

_First: See the backstories Mafia and Militar and Going Down and Looking Up; they will explain how things came to be the way they are in 1920 and will give crucial info as the story progresses. _

_The year is 1920, Feliciano Vargas is at the top of the Mafia's Chicago outfit. He has taken advantage of all the profits to be made in prohibition America. While toasting his successes of the year he gets some disturbing news. With the help of his capo (boss below the don in charge of group of soldiers) and very close friend (and more?) Ludwig, he runs against the burgeoning mob run by a certain dangerous Belorussian and her brothel/speakeasy owning sister. Alfred Jones is the head of the bureau of investigation whose chief concern is combating the Italian mafia, and in his clear cut vigilante mindset he doesn't mind getting his hands dirty and making deals with unsavory characters. Possibly an Ivan Braginski of Russia? A once aristocratic captain who embraced the revolution and is now deep into the construction of the Soviet Union. Things get interesting when Alfred's brother runs into a complicated relationship with Ludwig's. And even more interesting when Ludwig and Feliciano's Yakuza friend Kiku shows up. The only thing that is certain is that in this world of violence and crime, not everyone will come out alive._

_Ger/Ita main, Rus/Ame, Pru/Can side, with bits of Aus/Hun and a pairing that will be a surprise later!_

_AU, human names used._

1920. Chicago.

A chill wind blew past the window of the top story penthouse. A babyfaced brunette sat at his desk enjoying his favorite dish, a heaping plate of spaghetti bolognaise. It was December and this had been a very good year. Prohibition had perhaps been the best thing to happen to him. He happily swirled the long noodles on his fork and prepared to take another bite.

The ringing of the phone broke the peaceful silence. Who had the audacity to call him during lunch? Whoever it was had better have a good reason or they'd be taking a long walk off a short pier. "Ve~ he sighed before picking up the phone.

"Sarebbe meglio che questo sia importante" He spoke into the phone; his voice lighter and softer than the words.

"Forgive me Boss." The messenger spluttered into the phone. Feliciano's face darkened with each word as the unfortunate man relayed his information. When the nervous soldier, who had undoubtedly drawn the shortest straw finished, Feliciano's usually cheerful expression had completely disappeared to be replaced by one of both barely controlled rage and mounting panic. He hung up the phone without saying a word.

The petite Italian clenched and un-clenched his fists. He glanced at his forgotten pasta, the dish represented the delusional thoughts he had had a moment ago. With his financial success had, of course, come more responsibility. Family. His loud mouthed older brother was always causing trouble. In a flash the plate was flung from his desk.

"I'm sorry pasta." He apologized to the mess of noodles, sauce, and ceramic shards that littered the floor and smeared the wall across from him.

What should he do, Feliciano wondered as he paced. His brother Romano was supposed to have met with some new associates, but had never showed. He had last been seen with an unknown woman entering the Gold Star hotel. That sleazy den of booze and prostitution wasn't one of his. What had Romano been doing there?

Feliciano absentmindedly twirled his finger in the signature curl of his hair. Whatever Romano had gotten himself into Feliciano would get him out. He reached for the phone and dialed his best capo. Sure, he wasn't Italian, and that had caused a stir, but he got the job done and no one could argue with his results.

"Hallo" the German's clear voice sounded through the telephone.

"Veh~ Ludwig, I need your talents today." Feliciano flopped down into his leather chair and spun to face the window again, the phone cord wrapping around him.

"Of course!" Ludwig's voice dropped in concern. "Feli," He used the nickname few were allowed to call Don Vargas. "Feli, Vhat has happened? I can hear it in your voice, vhat is it?"

Feliciano repeated the information he had been given as he attempted to untangle himself from the phone cord.

"That hotel is in the Ukrainian part of town! Vhat vas he doing zhere?" Ludwig mused.

"I don't know! Veh~" Feliciano trailed off, retrieving his handgun from the drawer beneath the phone. "But I need to find out. Meet me outside in thirty minutes."

"I vill be zhere in 15." Ludwig answered.

"Arrivederci" Feliciano hung up the phone and smoothing his suit he made sure there were no sauce stains on it. With a last apologetic look toward his wasted pasta, the petite mafioso made for his private stair. He and Ludwig would find his brother and take care of anyone in their way. Feliciano allowed a small smile to lighten his expression. It was always nice to see Ludwig. After they got Romano out of his current troubles he would see if his hardworking capo wanted to go out for dinner. Afterall, he hadn't gotten to finish his lunch.

Forty-five minutes later Feliciano and Ludwig stepped out of the blonde man's Audi parked in the rear of the questionable hotel where Romano had last been seen. The cold wind swirled in the alley as the two men slipped in the back unnoticed.

The tall broad shouldered blonde walked ahead of his shorter companion. They silently made their way through the lounge where girls giggled with their patrons, past the door that led to the speakeasy below. They continued until they neared the door of an office. A gangly man armed with a machete stood guard outside.

Ludwig motioned for Feliciano to stay put out of sight while he took care of the guard.

The German stepped around the corner and before his leading foot hit the ground he shot the guard in the shoulder causing him to drop his weapon. He crossed the hall in seconds and before the gangly man could pick his weapon off the ground, Ludwig had pressed his still smoking pistol against the guard's forehead.

"Now, vhy don't you show me in to the owner of this establishment. Nice und easy, ja?"

Feliciano stepped from around the corner and the guard's eyes widened in recognition.

"D-d-don Vargas! Miss Katyusha - She, she is not in!" The young man squirmed against the door.

"Oh? Ve vill see about that." Ludwig spoke in a low growl before kicking the door in, making the guard jump as the door fell off it's hinges behind him. The office was indeed empty. Ludwig dragged the man inside as Feliciano followed behind him.

The blonde man threw the guard into the empty chair and tied his wrists to the arms then stepped back. Feliciano straightened the cuffs of his dress shirt and approached him.

"You were here earlier today." It was not a question, and the guard struggling in the chair knew it and so did not answer. Feliciano continued walking circles around the man. "You saw my brother. You saw who he was with." He faced the bound man again and leaned in, inwardly relishing his rare height advantage. "Where is he now?"

The man stopped struggling but didn't answer. Feliciano sighed. "Ve~ do not make this harder. It is only business. Answer my questions and we will both be able to have a nice evening." The guard still did not reply. Feliciano looked toward Ludwig who took a step closer. "I really don't enjoy causing pain, but I love my brother. You have one more chance to tell me where he is."

Silence.

"Veh~ I tried to make this easy for you." He motioned for Ludwig who took his place in front of the guard.

"You vill tell us everything ve vant to know." The guard shook his head, eyes wide. Ludwig continued, his cold blue eyes focused, "You vill." He turned toward Feliciano, "I do not vant to make you lose your appetite Feli."

The boss nodded and stepped outside the door, taking up a place down the hall where he could keep an eye out should the proprietor return.

An hour later Feliciano heard Ludwig's heavy steps behind him. He turned toward the tall blonde with a questioning look. Ludwig was wiping blood from his knuckles with a piece of striped cotton Feliciano recognized as the same pattern as the guard's shirt.

"He is alive. Though it is up to his bosses if he vill stay that vay." Feliciano glanced around Ludwig to the office. The guard was out cold, still tied to the chair, bloodied and bruised, his shirt torn and open. On his chest Ludwig had written the words "I talked" in the man's blood.

As the two men again made their way through the lounge, Ludwig whispered to Feliciano. "Romano vas here, but he didn't come on his own. The guard saw him as Natalya, the owner's sister, brought him in. According to him, she left Romano in a car vhile she spoke vith a government agent." Ludwig continued as they got back in the car, "He overheard the man agreeing to have his boss meet her on the river this evening at 7pm."

Feliciano looked to his watch. They had four hours. He looked up at Ludwig who insisted on driving himself even though he could have had a chauffeur. "Ve~ let's celebrate our new information with sweets!" Was that a sideways smile? The German didn't admit to it often, but Feliciano knew he had a serious sweet tooth. The brunette relaxed in his seat, confident now that they would retrieve his brother and all would be well. His thoughts turned away from business and toward spumoni as they drove downtown to his favorite shop.

….

As it neared 7 o'clock, a blonde be-speckled man waited aboard his yacht. His thoughts wandered over his predicament as he waited for the woman who had contacted his people at the Bureau of Investigation to show up. Yes, America was a melting-pot, a haven for all those oppressed, a place where one could pull themselves up by their bootstraps, chase the American dream and all that he mused. However, here he was trying to clean up his city, no, his country, and this certain Italian family had come in and made a mockery of the law! They had to go. That's why when he had been told about a foreign woman who said she had something that could eradicate the problem for him Alfred had been too intrigued to turn her down. He hoped it wasn't a trick.

He didn't have to wait long. A small motorboat was approaching; two women, one with long silvery hair, and the other with…well, a very well endowed chest, stood with a blindfolded and gagged brunette man between them.

Alfred went to help the ladies aboard. The long haired one brushed off his attempt and pulled herself up with surprising strength for her small frame, while the other accepted his hand with a smile. Once all were aboard, Alfred gestured toward the cabin and they went inside away from prying eyes.

Once inside, Alfred turned to the women and asked "So, you've got a solution to my crime problem?" The long haired one stood up proudly. "I am Natalya, this is my sister Katyusha. I propose to you, that we help get rid of your Italian troubles." She gestured toward the man slumped in a chair, garbled curse words coming out from around the gag.

"In return, you and your B.O.I see to it that my family is given freedom to establish our own businesses here in your country. We're much, much more polite." She smiled wide and it brought the image of a wolf about to attack his prey to Alfred's mind. His eyes slid to her sister Katyusha who was determinedly looking out the window.

"Uh..huh." Realization dawned on Alfred. "Natalya… you're Ivan Braginski's sisters!" He laughed then and knew what they were getting at. "It's a bit of a difficult time at home right now isn't it?" When neither answered he continued. "Does Ivan even know you're here?" Katyushka looked uncomfortable, Natalya looked murderous.

"I know what is in my big brother's best interests! He's too busy right now to think about the world of opportunities outside Russia." She continued closing the distance between them dangerously. "I know he will want to branch out. He will be glad I am here doing good for him." She sounded completely insane to Alfred who backed up and clearing his throat, changed the subject away from her brother, the man he had met years ago, for so short a time. The man whose file his fingers could find from memory, in the cabinet beside his desk.

"Uh, so you gonna introduce me to your, um, friend?" he asked eying the brunette still blindfolded and gagged in the chair.

"Of course," Natalya said silkily, as she strode behind the chair and in one flourish pulled the blindfold from the man's face.

Romano blinked in the light and staggered a bit, but once he stood upright he continued his string of both Italian and English swearing from around the gag. "I present to you," Natalya continued, "Feliciano Vargas!"

Alfred stood for a moment staring at the scene before him. He had seen way more than he wanted of Feliciano's face. The babyfaced crime boss flaunted his apparent immunity to justice everyday. Each time Alfred had something on him, evidence or a witness would disappear. This man was not Mr. Vargas. Well, at least not that Mr. Vargas. He laughed hard and then seeing the confused look on Natalya's face and the worried one on Katyusha's he wiped the tears from his eyes and resting a hand on Natalya's shoulder, which she quickly brushed away, he said, "Wrong Italian. This is his brother Romano." He turned toward the struggling, cursing brunette with a bright grin, "Right, Romano?"

The elder Vargas brother growled and glared daggers at everyone in the cabin as he continued to attempt to free his hands from behind his back.

At the same moment that Romano struggled, Katyusha looked stricken, Natalya radiated loathing at her mistake, and Alfred wondered whether he ought to keep Romano for questioning or just let him go as a lost cause, shots suddenly rang out across the river.

"Get down!" the American yelled to both women as holes were shot through the side of his yacht. He rushed to pull Katyusha down, shielding her with himself as Natalya ducked behind a chair, already pulling out a pair of daggers,

Romano took his chance, and though his legs were tied at the knees and his wrists behind his back, he staggered stiltedly toward the open window. If he was wrong, and it wasn't his brother, he'd be shot. Luckily for him, the gunfire stopped at his appearance in the window. Looking down into the deck of his little brother's yacht, the mobster tried to grin around the gag and before his captors or the American could stop him, he threw himself head first out the window to flip and land on his back in familiar territory.

Feliciano rushed to his brother as Ludwig gunned the engine and they pulled away leaving nothing but foam and spray in their wake.

_End of Ch. 1! I hope it was enjoyable :D_

_B.O.I = Bureau of Intelligence, the forerunners of the FBI we know today._

_Gold Star is the name of a bar in chicago that used to be part of a "hotel of ill repute" and a speakeasy during prohibition. I dont know if it was called gold star back then or not, but it sounds cool so I kept it._

Sarebbe meglio che questo sia importante_ = This better be important (Italian) Thanks to Piyo13 for the Italian :D You're wonderful! (I have no experience with Italain!)_

_And, I know the mafia aka Cosa Nostra is a Sicilian organization, but for my purposes we're going with Italy proper. I don't pretend to be an expert in the mafia, I just try to do my research. I'm a psych student, not a criminologist._

_TBC, but as I am in grad school I can only promise I'll TRY to make it once every couple weeks, but it may be sporadic, especially around midterms and finals._


	2. Chapter 2

_So… due to the fact that I live in Kansas and there is a blizzard (which apparently stretches across the entire Great Plains and Ozarks area) I have had no classes for the past two days and that meant that I got to update this way earlier than I had anticipated!_

_I hope you all like it – THANKS sincerely for the lovely reviews I got on the first chapter!_

_And thank you to my sister (Abbygreeneyes) for a certain older sibling's lines! She's amazing; the conversation wouldn't have been the same within her! It was so much fun creating that bit!_

_CH 2_

Alfred stood and held out a hand to Katyusha who smiled and mumbled a small "thank you." He then turned to her sister who was just sheathing her daggers into a strap on her thigh. Alfred quickly looked away, embarrassed.

He walked to the open window and resting his palms on the sill, he breathed in the cool wind blowing across the river. He spoke to the sisters without looking back to give Natalya time to compose herself. "_That_ was Feliciano Vargas. He is shorter than his brother; his hair is slightly lighter, a mahogany color and curls on the other side."

Natalya was suddenly behind him. For some reason it gave Alfred the chills. Was he really considering a deal with this woman? Before he could answer his own question she let out a low whisper as though she was talking to herself. "Good to know. I will not make the same mistake again."

Alfred turned to face her, "And he always has that tall German around."

"Hmmm" Natalya appeared to be thinking; her eyes flickered toward the doorway of the cabin. She turned to her sister, "Sestra, we have much to do. First, we must find out how they found us here and what they know of us." Katyusha nodded and went to stand by the door as her younger sister stepped over splinters and broken pieces of furniture.

Suddenly Katyusha spoke up as Natalya reached the door. "Should we perhaps tell Ivan what's going on? Maybe he could-" but Natalya cut her off. "He is far too busy right now, we've talked about this!"

Katyusha acquiesced to her sister, "Da sestra, of course." Alfred stayed quiet as he watched the two sister's exchange. As they both began the decent to their motor boat he followed them out onto the deck.

"I will bring Feliciano Vargas to you." Natalya spoke again, looking up at him from the ladder; her sister was already readying their boat below. Alfred realized she may not understand the law in America.

He straightened his glasses and leaned over the railing as she continued her descent. "Um, you know I can't just arrest him without evidence or a confession." He wasn't sure what he had expected her response to be, but it hadn't been the look he saw now. Her grey-blue eyes lit up malevolently and a shadow seemed to cross her face for a moment though the sun was not out to cast one.

"A confession? I can do that." Her lips split in a wicked smile as she hopped off the last rung of the ladder to join her sister in the boat.

Was this the kind of woman he wanted to make a deal with? Alfred thought again. "Just – Just get that confession and then we'll talk." He called down to them. There, he thought to himself running a hand through his hair, he hadn't really made a deal. He only said he'd talk to her and see where it went from there. Alfred wasn't stupid. He knew he may just be trading one crime syndicate for another. He would have to make sure he played his cards right here. His mind trailed off as he looked around at the damage done.

"Damn. I was so close to having this thing paid off, and now it needs repairs." He sighed, then put it out of his mind. First things first, he would have to get back to the office, see what he could find out about these sisters. Maybe a trip to Russia wouldn't be a bad idea, either. Ivan would undoubtedly be more sensible than his clearly unstable sister.

It was an hour later when Alfred unlocked the door to his office and strolled in ready to dig up whatever he could on Natalya and Katyusha. As he set his coffee on the desk he noticed a letter. It was from his brother Mathew in Canada. Alfred hadn't seen him in ages; he happily tore open the envelope to read it.

_Alfred, I've decided it been too long since I visited! I know you're always busy but I'm coming down there. I know you'll make time for my delicious pancakes! I'm leaving tonight so I should be there the day after you get this letter. I wanted to write you instead of call because I know sometimes you forget when I'm coming for a visit. This way you can pin the letter to your office door so you won't forget. _

_See you soon!_

_Your brother, _

_Mathew_

A bright grin lit up Alfred's face. He plopped down in his seat, put his feet up on the desk and sipped at his coffee. Mathew's pancakes were the best! He would have a day to dig up any dirt on the sisters, and then he could hang out with Matt for a few days before heading over to Russia to meet with Ivan. His grin faded just a bit at a sudden thought. The civil war over there was still going strong. Would that be a problem?

He reached over to the filing cabinet beside his desk and pulled out the file marked Braginski, I. He didn't need to look to find the edges of the worn file. Ivan had been on their side during the Great War before the Russian Empire became the Soviet Republic and left the war effort. Alfred had met him personally once, once that he could remember…those dreams, but no, he shook the thought from his mind, they were only dreams. The image of a violet eyed soldier swam into focus in his mind. Alfred recalled his bloodstained and torn uniform; the strangest thing had been Ivan's scarf. It was immaculate. How had he kept that scarf so pristine?

Alfred shook his head again and the image of Ivan from his mind. Now he was part of the Bolshevik government, which Alfred's government definitely did not support. America had recently been helping the counter-revolutionary White army instead and had only just pulled their troops from Siberia that year when it was clear the Reds were going to win.

He let his feet drop from his desk as he sat up straighter. He would go to Russia. What was their civil war compared to the Great War? Before Mathew arrived he'd get it all set up and after his brother's visit he'd travel straight to Moscow. He'd simply avoid getting involved in their politics and get back home as quickly as possible to deal with Feliciano and his foul mouthed brother.

Alfred took another sip of his coffee before flipping open the file.

_Closest Family Members: Two sisters. The elder, Katyusha Braginskaya is now living in Chicago, owner of the Gold Star hotel. The younger, Natalya Arlovskaya is known to have contacts with criminal organizations in Belarus and Lithuania though her current whereabouts are unknown._

Well, he'd have to amend that, Alfred thought as he flipped through the file. His eyes fell on the picture of Ivan stapled to the page of his known history. It couldn't hurt to read up on him a bit, Alfred thought. He reached for another sip of his coffee and resting his chin in his palm, his elbows on the desk, he began to read.

As Alfred sat in his office late into the night, Feliciano was leaving his brother's house. Romano had told him everything that had happened. Most troubling was the agent's willingness to work with the Byelorussian. Feliciano's stomach growled as he got into the car and he asked his driver to make a stop at the first phone booth he saw.

…

The petite man played with the ends of his jacket as he went over the day's events. Feliciano had thought he had paid off enough in the local government to keep this sort of thing from happening. Clearly, he hadn't paid off enough in Washington to keep the feds at bay. He would have to do something about this over zealous agent Jones.

Feliciano was frustrated and hungry. He wouldn't be able to think straight until he got some dinner. He had meant to ask Ludwig to join him as well, but in all the commotion after rescuing Romano he had forgotten to ask him. Once they had gotten Romano safely home, his German capo had left to collect the monthly protection money gathered by his men. Surely he had still not eaten.

The driver stopped and Feliciano immediately got out and made his way to the phone booth. He looked to either side and satisfied at seeing none of his enemies, he whistled happily as he dialed his favorite restaurant.

After making the order he dialed Ludwig's number.

"Hallo" the familiar voice came over the receiver.

"Ludwig! How much did your guys bring in in protection this month? Anyone resist paying? Feliciano asked cheerfully.

"The usual $20,000." Ludwig's voice was serious as always. "One resistance, but no need to worry, I persuaded him that it vas in his best interest."

Feliciano chuckled lightly. Ludwig was always able to lift his spirits. "I was thinking, have you eaten yet? Its been such a long day, if you haven't would you like to come eat with me?" Why was there suddenly a lump in his throat? He stood up straight and adjusted his collar.

"Ja, I vould like that." Ludwig replied after a moment. "Vhere do you vant to go?"

Feliciano grinned into the receiver, "I'm actually picking something up. You can meet me at my place Veh~."

Silence. Feliciano's heart raced.

Why was he so worked up? After three years, still? Surely he just needed to eat. He was about to add something else when Ludwig's voice came back softer than usual.

"Ja. That sounds nice."

Feliciano let out his breathe relieved. "Veh~ Great! I'll see you soon!" He hung up the phone and rushed back to the car, glad to be out of the December wind and on his way to pick up dinner. He would think about what to do about that agent and the Byelorussian later. It couldn't be too messy. A government agent would be missed. He shook the thoughts from his head. He was on his way to food and deserved a break just for the night.

Ludwig hung up the phone and turned away from the stove. He looked over to his brother Gilbert seated at the table feeding the tiny bird on his head breadcrumbs. The taller blonde took the jagersnitzel he had just made them from the stove and made his brother a plate. The pale haired man looked up from his seat, "Only one plate?"

"Ah, Ja. I have to go meet mit my boss. He said he would have food there, so…"

Gilbert looked up with a smirk, "It seems you're always with these days." He said, "Moved up quickly in the ranks, didn't you Bruder?"

The tall blonde slammed the plate down on the table, "I believe in a good work ethic. I don't know vhat you are insinuating!"

His brother looked to the plate and raised and eyebrow. "So touchy Ludwig. Slamming dinnerware like that. Work must be stressful. Or...", he emphasized the next word with a wink, "distracting."

Ludwig spluttered incoherently before getting his wits about him again. "Work is just fine - you are stressful! Feli - ciano is my boss and a good friend. That is all! Oh god , he had almost used the nickname! Ludwig could feel his face grow hot and prayed his brother hadn't noticed.

Gilbert cheeped on his older brother's head. "Feli...?" Gilbert grinned wide as he said the name. Ludwig's face grew hotter still.

"I..I had a hiccup..." He said reaching for his coat, determinedly not meeting his brother's eyes. Before he had had a chance to put the coat on his brother frowned.

"Bruder you can't leave with out bringing me my beer. You can't expect the awesome me to get my own Beer can you?"

Ludwig let out a low rumble from the base of his throat, "Ja! Get your own beer!" He was to busy looking for his keys, the sooner he left the better at this point. "Where are my keys?" Ludwig tossed pillows from the sofa angrily and bent down to peer beneath.

From his position on the floor he was unable to see his brother's eyes alit on a pair of keys on the table and pocket them. All he heard as he stood back up was "I don't know Ludwig. You've been unusually scatterbrained lately. It's obvious you have something else on your mind." Gilbert leaned suggestively across the table at him before continuing, "and I spend all day at work pouring beer. The least you can do is get me a pint."

Ludwig stomped back toward the table as he retorted, "I have nothing on my mind!" As the last syllable dropped from his tongue, he recognized the beginnings of a laugh on his brother's lips. "I mean, anything on my mind is none of your business!" He amended loudly from the kitchen as he reached into the icebox for a beer.

He returned from the kitchen and resentfully slid the beer across the table to Gilbert. "here - have your damn pint!

His brother's red eyes sparkled with mirth as he gloated at receiving what he wanted. "Here!" he pulled the keys from his pocket and tossed them to Ludwig. "Have your damn keys!" He took a sip and leaned back in his seat throwing his feet up on the table. He took a second sip and then continued with an ever wider grin. "and I wouldn't want to see anything on your mind Bruder. I never went for Italians."

Ludwig's eyes went wide, "Vhat?"

His older brother just ignored Ludwig's outburst and waived his hand dismissively. "Ja, ja, just go. Gilbird has more of a clue than you." Ludwig glared as he began to finally put on his coat.

"Ja, I vill go."He lifted his chin, trying to will the blush from his face. "Enjoy your dinner bruder".

Gilbert chuckled, and whispering to the little bird he said, "You can't blame him. He does have that cute little curl."

This comment sent Ludwig over the edge. He was talking about his boss- his friend- he…well, he didn't quiet know how to explain himself, but it was the last straw. The tall blonde was at his brother in an instant, both fists slammed into the table on either side of the shorter man. "Augh! If you were not mein bruder!"

Gilbert stared at his irate sibling for a moment and then burst out laughing. Gilbird chirped and flew in circles above the two men.

Oh, his brother was impossible! "Vhat are you laughing at?" Ludwig bellowed at the paler man. The younger brother reached into his coat and brandished his pistol. "I mean it! I vould shoot you in the head!"

Gilbert's laughter finally subsided but his grin remained "So possessive West!" His grin split now from ear to ear as he continued, "and yet so incapable of staking a claim!"

Ludwig stood up and spluttered again, "I didn't mean...you, augh! I'm going to be late!" He turned, grabbed his favorite hat, a grey fedora with blue stripe around the band, and headed for the door. He had turned he knob and was just stepping onto the porch when his brother called after him.

"Careful Bruder, if you don't, I might!" He continued to guffaw from the dining room.

Ludwig didn't know what to say, but his blood was boiling. He turned to face Gilbert again, "Its not like that! You don't know vhat you're talking about!" completely involuntarily he added under his breathe, "und he vouldn't be interested if you did." As he turned back outside.

He was just about to slam the door when Gilbert's laughter subsided and he became unexpectedly serious. "Bruder, I run a speakeasy. It is not as uncommon as you think. No one cares what goes on behind closed doors. I've seen some suspicious things in your room." He teased; Ludwig grunted a non committal sound. "And yet you seem so straight laced! It is impossible to tell what people like. Take it from your wise older brother Gilbert."

Was his older brother actually trying to impart advice? Ludwig once again turned back to the house. He honestly didn't know what to say about the feelings he had toward Feliciano. For years he just chalked it up to wanting to be good at his job, always there if Feliciano needed him, but for a while he had to admit… he had been unsure if that was all it was. It didn't matter. Whatever it was, he would suppress it. He sighed deeply and returned his brother's uncharacteristic seriousness.

"I do not have your life. If I vanted...not that I do...vhat I mean is, my job is...vell, you just have to maintain a certain image." He cleared his throat. "I..I have to go."

It seemed that Gilbert understood what he was saying, and in another of his rare moments he stood at the table and looked at Ludwig seriously. "Ja, Bruder I know. You should come to the joint sometime. Relax."

Ludwig chuckled, Maybe he did need a break. "Ja. Ja, vhen I have the time I vill try to come by." With that he closed the door and stepped out into the cold air. As he started the car and headed in the direction of Feliciano's penthouse he breathed deeply. Whatever he was feeling would stay deep inside. Feli didn't feel the same way, of course. '_But if he did?_' a little voice whispered in his head. Ludwig turned the radio on. As loud as the dial would turn.

_End o' Chapter 2_

_I hope you all enjoyed reading that as much as I did writing it!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Authors note:_

_Thank you to all who have added this to their story alert or faves! So many people loving my story already makes me smile! A special thanks to kisuke-chan, ryuzaki-will-live-on, tuxedo lady, and crownedclown3293 for such encouraging reviews! And, as with the awesome sibling conversation in ch 2, again, I thank Abbygreeneyes, my sis, for contributing Mathew's part in this chapter!_

_I confess, I have had a hard time with Romance in the past, it is something I am working hard to overcome. I hope my attempt in this chapter has succeeded. I will go ahead and say in not too far ahead we'll have some sexy smut and earn that M rating – this will be heavily contributed by Abby, who is WAY better at writing it than me! Have you guys seen this video where Germany attempts to write a letter to Italy? Yeah. It's like that. (hopefully the youtube address shows up...) _www. youtube .com /watch?v=6YLnonNi5Hk

_Oh p.s. XD, when I was typing the words fettuccini alfredo in microsoft word, it corrected alfredo as Alfred. I literally laughed out loud! I just though I should share that with you all._

_**But enough of that! On to Ludwig and Feli's dinner!**_

Ludwig opened the door to Feliciano's suite to find the petite brunette sitting comfortably on the floor, a veritable feast of cheesy, saucy dishes on a cloth beside him.

"Ludwig! I hope you're hungry," he said indicating the various dishes. "Fettuccini alfredo, linguini and clams, manicotti, lasagna, of course bread, and antipasto!" Ludwig could feel himself start to grin as Feliciano's eyes lit up and he continued. "And for dessert," he held up a white take-out bag tied with a ribbon, "Cannolis!"

The tall blonde took a seat on the plush red carpet across from Feliciano. "Ja, that does sound good." He was immediately handed a glass of wine. As he helped himself to some linguini, Ludwig couldn't help but lift his eyebrows at the plate Feliciano had made. It was covered in each kind of dish and he was swirling his fork into some fettuccini with an enraptured look in his eyes.

"Hungry?" Ludwig asked, taking a bite himself. He couldn't help but smile and tried to ignore that voice in his mind that had spoken up before. _But if he does?_ If…but Feliciano was his boss, even though they were also friends, and he would not do anything…did he want to anyway? He wasn't sure what he was feeling…what's wrong with Gilbert? Why couldn't he ever just shut up?"

While he had been lost in thought, his fork halfway to his mouth, Ludwig hadn't noticed that Feliciano had moved. When he spoke right beside him instead of across from him he jumped and nearly dropped his plate. "Feli! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Veh~ Oh, I'm sorry Ludwig," Feliciano laughed and sitting up on his knees he threw his arm around the taller man's shoulders. "But I mean it!"

Wait, had he said something? "Mean vhat Feli?" His boss's light caramel brown eyes looked sincere, if a little unfocused. "I don't know what I'd do without you; nothing today could have gone as smoothly, and here you are with me, to celebrate the successful retrieval of my brother!"

Ludwig squinted. "How many glasses of this have you had, Feli?"

Instead of answering, he clinked his glass on Ludwig's untouched one and then lay down on his back against the soft carpet grinning from ear to ear happily. "We're going to have to do something about that Byelorussian though – Veh~we can't have her working with the feds."

"Vhat?" Ludwig turned to look down at Feliciano. "Is that vhat Romano said? You didn't tell me yet."

"Oh I didn't, did I?" Feliciano began to recount what Romano had told him. By the time he finished, his blonde friend's eyes were no more than blue slits and his fists were clenched, both the wine and linguine forgotten on the floor.

Ludwig's voice was low when he spoke. "Don't vorry. Ve vill find out everything zhere is to know about her and I vill get rid if her…and that agent Jones."

"I know, Veh~ that's why you're amazing…" Feliciano trailed off staring up at him. Ludwig felt heat flush to his face and he wasn't sure what to say or do, so he merely sat there looking down at Feliciano.

Lying on the floor below, clearly tipsy, was the most feared and respected crime boss in all of America and Italy. However, if he hadn't known any of that he would have only seen a small, happy, baby-faced Italian man, drunk on red wine and his confidence in Ludwig.

"Ve~ " Feliciano sat up suddenly and looked around at the bits of leftover food to rest his eyes on the bag of cannolis. He wavered a bit as he stood and removed his navy blue pin striped jacket, dropping it on the nearby sofa where his gun already rested. As he loosened the collar of his white dress shirt, he picked up the bag and smiling brightly, he pulled out a cylindrical pastry filled with cream. "Ever had a cannoli, Ludwig?"

"Nein, I do not think I have…ve have cream filled pastries in Germany though." He crossed the space to where Feliciano stood and accepted the offered pastry. He took a bite from the end. "Mmmm. Very good Feli – if you like these you should try cremeschnitte!"

Ludwig looked down at the shorter man; Feliciano had already made quick work of his cannoli, taking care of the creamy inside first and then eating the flaky dough. He smiled up again at Ludwig, remnants of cream all over his mouth.

Ludwig forgot who he was for a moment, his heart beat furiously in his chest. _Oh god, Gilbert was right!_ The pace of his heart, that knotted feeling in his stomach, that heat coming over his face, he wasn't stupid and try as he might, he couldn't lie to himself. His mind blanked on anything to do or say for the second time that night. _Get yourself together Ludwig!_ He mentally scolded himself.

Thankfully he was spared from finding something to say as Feliciano bent and retrieved a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket and wiped his mouth. He then poured himself another glass of wine and flopped onto the sofa. "Ve~Ludwig – you look so stressed! Everyday can't be work or we'll go crazy; have a seat, have some wine-" He noticed Ludwig hadn't drank any. "Oh, Ve~ I forgot you prefer beer!"

Ludwig sat down quickly on the other end of the sofa saying, "Nein, it is no problem. You can have my wine." He honestly wasn't sure how he would control his mutinous emotions if under the influence.

To his horror, Feliciano leaned across his chest as he reached for the phone on the end table. Ludwig could hear the other end of the line as the young made man answered so many stories below. "Yes, Don Vargas, sir?" Feliciano cleared his throat lightly, "Have some beer brought up please." "of course sir. What kind?" "Imported. Do we have access to any German beers?" " Si, we do, sir."

Feliciano's face was uncomfortably close to Ludwig's, but he didn't seem to notice as he turned, decreasing the space between them. "Veh~ What's your favorite?" As he asked, Ludwig knew he would have no way out of drinking, so he may as well have the best he could.

"Oettinger."

…

Several hours later, Feliciano's carpet was littered with empty bottles of wine and beer. Ludwig sat on the floor against the wall gazing out the double glass doors to the balcony. The Italian had passed out half an hour ago and now leaned against the blonde's shoulder snoring lightly.

Ludwig was beginning to sober up a bit, but knew he was still in no condition to drive home, and at any rate, the sun would be rising soon enough. It would make no difference to go home now. He leaned his head back against the wall as he could just imagine Gilbert's reaction when he finally did return. Ludwig could see his brother's smirk in his mind: _Oh stayed the night I see, West. _And then there would be rumors in the organization…well, not if they were smart. Ludwig smiled then, realizing that both he and Feliciano could silence a rumor with a bullet.

He congratulated himself on not acting on, or divulging, his emotions throughout the night, though there had been many close calls…Feliciano had been very close all night and lighthearted. He had even been the one to lead Ludwig by the hand to sit where they were now in front of the balcony doors. Just before passing out he had simultaneously talked about the beauty of the stars and attempted to plan the attack on the Byelorussian's mob. That was before he stopped mid sentence and dropped his head onto Ludwig's shoulder.

Closing his eyes, Ludwig rested his chin on top of Feliciano's head. He was still conflicted. He knew how he felt now, though he still didn't know how to admit it in clear words even to himself, but he really didn't know if Feliciano felt the same way. Resolving to just keep it all to himself and control his emotions Ludwig sighed.

The sound, or perhaps the movement of Ludwig's chest caused the brunette leaning on him to stir. He didn't quite wake, but murmured something inaudible and scooted closer into Ludwig's chest, draping one arm across his waist.

Thankful for the effects of the beer, which put him at ease and lowered his inhibitions to a degree, Ludwig lowered the arm that had been resting behind his head to encircle Feliciano. If the other man woke now and did not feel the same, he'd have every right to shoot him, Ludwig thought. However, something told him that was unlikely to happen.

Feliciano moved again, closer and mumbled once more. It almost sounded familiar. Ludwig leaned his head to better hear. "Vhat did you say?" he whispered.

It was barley audible at all and Ludwig had to strain to hear him. "Ti amo Lu-" the words ended in a snore.

His heart stopped, and then quickened at his comprehension.

Ludwig rested his forehead on top of Feliciano's hair. "Ich liebe dich auch, Feli."

He whispered it so quietly, he barely heard it himself.

While the Mafioso and his capo slept off the effects of their night wrapped in eachother's arms, the sun rose and shown down on the city. Across town Alfred Jones was just beginning to wake up.

…..

Mmmmm…he had been dreaming the most wonderful dream. His brother was down and he was making him pancakes. He turned in his blankets, disentangling himself as his stomach growled. Alfred stood, stretched, and just as he was about to turn the handle of his bedroom door he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps from the other side of the wall. Listening hard, he heard the water facet turned on, the sound of dishes clinking together, a drawer opening…Mathew was due to get in sometime today, could he be here already, he wondered as his stomach gave another rumble.

He hoped so, but being who he was, he knew it could just as easily be a robber, or worse. Hurrying into his pants from the night before and grabbing his pistol from beneath the mattress, Alfred stepped cautiously into the hall.

He turned the corner into the kitchen slowly, leading with his gun, and was greeted with a gasp and the sound of glass shattering. He recognized that tiny gasp. "MATTIE!"

Alfred ran around the corner, leaping over the broken glass and spilled orange juice on the floor to embrace his brother. Mathew hugged his twin back, laughing nervously.

"You nearly scared me to death Al!"

Alfred pulled back as Mathew bent to pick up the mess on the floor. He smiled, "Why didn't you wake me up man?"

Mathew walked to the trash and disposed of the broken glass. "I knocked on the door four times before I used my key. When I saw you were still asleep, I assumed you had had a late night at work."

"Well you were right," Alfred conceded running his hands through his tousled hair in an attempt to smooth it. The two brothers looked almost like mirror images of each other, the only exceptions were that Mathew wore his hair slightly longer, his glasses were of a different style, and of course at the moment he was a lot more put together in a buttoned shirt and vest, his tweed jacket draped over the counter. Alfred was bedraggled as he usually was in the morning. His hair was a mess, and he wore only his khaki slacks from the day before.

After the mess was fully picked up and Alfred had thrown on a shirt and washed his face, he sat at the table with the plate his brother had made him, digging in happily.

Alfred looked up at his brother, who was rinsing off the skillet, and asked around a full mouth, "So, how long do you have off?"

Mathew picked up his own pancakes and joined his brother at the table "about 3 weeks until the new semester starts." He reached for the syrup, but his twin got to it first, pouring even more onto his stack. Alfred choked slightly. "that long?"

His brother furrowed his brow and retorted, not trying to hide his annoyance, "Yes...one of the perks of being in academia."

Alfred stopped shoveling his breakfast into his mouth and waved his hands as he swallowed. " No, not that I don't want you here Mattie!" He took another bite and continued, "I just gotta go somewhere on business in a few days." He continued to talk with his mouth full, "you can stay here and hang out."

Mathew visibly relaxed. "Oh that's no problem. A quick trip down to D.C? I think I can manage." He finally got his hands on the syrup.

Alfred looked sheepish and attempted to muffle his response by taking a drink of his juice. "Um…a little farther away."

His brother looked across the table, suspicion showing clearly in his eyes. "How far are we talking, Al?"

Alfred sat down his juice and tried to be as nonchalant as possible. "Oh, abroad - but I'm flying so it'll take no time, just a couple days and I'll be back!" He quickly added, "Wanna go to a black hawks game tonight? They're playing the maple leaves!" in an attempt to distract his brother with his love of hockey.

Unfortunately Mathew was too observant for that tactic, giving a look that clearly said _of course, do you have to ask?_ he didn't let the conversation end there. He looked up brightly at Alfred and swallowed his mouthful of pancake before continuing. "Abroad? That's cool. Wish I could travel for my job! Where are you going?"

Not seeing a way out, Alfred finally answered. "Um, Russia."

Mathew choked on the juice he had just been sipping. "Russia? As in, war torn Russia?"

Alfred, in his best devil-may-care way tried to ease his twin's worry. "Yeah, but you know, should be no big deal I'm just going straight to the capital - nothing I cant handle" He ended with an overlarge grin to show just how not a big deal it was.

Mathew frowned and stared at his brother. "Is this something you were ordered to do? Surely they wouldn't send you in alone. You will have protection, I assume?"

Alfred looked anywhere but at Mathew. "Um, actually I asked to go; it was before I got your letter" And then looking back with his grin back in place he interjected, "and yeah! I'll totally have my gun!"

Mathew gaped at his brother, incredulity etched all over his face, he slammed his palm down on the tabletop. "Alfred! I meant protection as in other men! Bodyguards!"

Alfred leaned back in his seat and laughed "I'll be fine, It's not like I wont have ammo"

Mathew conceded that he wasn't going to get through to Alfred on that point and decided to at least get more information on how dangerous his brother's mission was going to be. "what are you doing in Russia anyway?" He couldn't help but add under his breath, "You ridiculous idiot..."

Alfred took another bite and answered "classified." He then pointed his fork at his brother, drops of syrup landing on the table. "I heard that! Just cause I'm not a professor like you..."

Mathew glowered. "I would expect a government man to at least realize we aren't exactly in good with the Bolsheviks and if you asked to go I'm betting YOU made it classified. In other words, tell me!" he showed his annoyance with a half hearted sound low in his throat.

Alfred's eyes widened. Realizing he'd been caught, he gave in and chuckled "You're too smart , you know that? And yeah, I know we're not on good terms, OBVIOUSLY. Ok," He added a few more pancakes to his plate before continuing in a long run on sentence. "I'm gonna go have a talk with the brother of a Byelorussian woman whose mob is currently fighting the Italians that have been giving us so much trouble. 'Might be useful, but gotta see if its really a good idea."

Mathew ran his hand through his hair and leaned back in his chair. "You know what? Never mind, I didn't want to know. Only you would think making a deal with one criminal to put away another would solve your problem."

Alfred knew his brother would rather not think about what his job entailed at times. Though he would never admit it, he sometimes wondered what it would be like to be a history professor like his brother, with no life or death worries, but in the end he loved his work and needed a job where he really knew he made a difference in the world; saving the innocent, putting away the bad guys. Good for him or not, it was his bread and butter.

Leaning forward across the table Alfred replied seriously, "one thing at a time you know" then, relaxing back into his seat he added, "Don't worry, I actually met the guy once before in the war, remember when I was shot down over the Eastern front?" At the somber nod from his brother, Alfred went on, "Ivan Braginski; tall, purple eyes, wears a scarf. He seemed reasonable enough." Partly to himself, he added, "not that we talked much..."

Mathew snorted. "Purple eyes and a scarf. That makes such a HUGE difference then. Besides, I thought it was his sister you were really dealing with. If he's all the way in Russia what does he have to do with this?"

Alfred waved his fork around by his temple. "She's nuts! Plus she says she's doing it on his behalf, but he doesn't know what she's up to, I think. If he's really the one calling the shots, I should deal with him." He leaned forward again and raised his eyebrows for effect, "Seriously. Loony."

His brother's eyes opened wide in a dawning realization. "Ah so you think this Braginski may not approve of her activities? I see. So by the time she's handled the Italians you've got big brother to put an end to her little criminal organization. But Al, there's the one catch, what if he's onboard with all this?"

Alfred grew thoughtful. "Um, well...in that case, I'll need to assess what threat his organization poses us." He silently contemplated this for a moment before shrugging and adding, "He had a kind looking face though, so not too worried."

Mathew flushed pink and was instantly suspicious of his brother's unusually poetic description, and appalled at his apparent lack of forethought. "A kind face? Violet eyes?" He looked across the table at Alfred, his eyes wide as saucers.

"Well it's memorable!" Alfred defended himself as he reached behind him for the file he had left on the kitchen counter the night before. He pulled out the picture and handed it across to Mathew. "See?" he continued, "I mean how many people have violet eyes like that?"

Mathew relaxed as he looked over the photo. "Okay, it's unique, I admit. Just...mind yourself." He handed Alfred back the picture of Ivan.

"See?" He placed the photo back into the file. "And he's got a slight smile, I'm sure it'll be a piece of cake!" besides relax – it's the 20's, we're not in the teens anymore, gotta live life! You should do the same. I bet you're always in the office or the library! Get out and live a little, go to a club or something while I'm away!"

Mathew folded his arms disdainfully. "Sometimes I think YOU'RE still in the teens."

Alfred just laughed. "You know I'm right though brother! What is it -50% office, 30%library, 20% museum? I work all the time too but I still manage to see some action!"

Mathew replied skeptically, "What "action" am I missing out on exactly? I like the museum and I go to the theater sometimes!"

Alfred laughed fully, throwing his head back and than teased his brother. "Oh well! I was wrong! You're a real animal! Have fun, meets some girrrrllls!" he laughed again.

His brother raised an eyebrow and replied with sarcasm. "Oh yes like the girls that are always hanging off your arm." He continued, "Seriously when did you last have a girlfriend?"

Alfred looked affronted. "Hey, I'm really busy! I'm a federal investigator! I investigate dangerous people!" He put on his best saintly look. "I wouldn't want anyone to get hurt by association."

Mathew turned serious. "So you're never going to get married then?" and then teased, "probably for the good of the human race..."

This time Alfred didn't hear his brother's second comment, and replied with equal seriousness to the first question. "I don't know. Maybe I'm not the marrying type."

"Well that's okay. We're more than enough family for each other." His brother smiled slightly, eyes on his plate.

Alfred thought he might be trying to hint at something, but wasn't sure. "right!" He grinned. "Well, do go out and have fun with someone!"

Mathew blushed furiously at the word 'someone' and cleared his throat. "Right I'll uh...I'll go to the pictures or something. You'll be back in just a few days? I want details and you'd better not be late."

Alfred was glad to see that Mathew wasn't arguing anymore. "Yeah! The pictures; there are a bunch of good ones right now!" He stood from the table. "I'll fill you in as soon as I get back! I don't leave until the day after tomorrow anyway and I'll only be gone a few days." He nudged his brother with an elbow, "I want details too - you better not stay in and read the whole time and just SAY you went out!"

Mathew scrunched his brow. "A few days is awfully vague Al, you'd better not be pulling the wool over my eyes, eh?"

"No, no really! I've missed you Matt!" Alfred hugged his twin with one arm, the other still holding the fork and Alfred's last bite of pancake. "I want to get back as soon as I can and hang out with you!" I would guess it may take 3 days tops."

Mathew squeezed his brother back, "Good. I'll be waiting!" Alfred started toward the hall; Mathew stopped him, "And put your plate in the sink if you're done, you slob."

Alfred turned back to the table. "Ok, ok..." He put the plate away and then, "hey, there's a great burger joint down the street - lets go for lunch before the game!"

Mathew smiled softly. "It's always burgers with you isn't it?"

"best food ever!" Alfred answered from the doorway to the hall. "At least besides your breakfasts!"

Mathew sniffed. "I always have to bring my own syrup. I've seen the stuff you keep in the cabinet."

Alfred called from the hallway, "Well, you just need to mail a case to me then!" Al right, I'm taking a shower -and then we're gonna have some fun! I'm not working till I have to leave for Russia!"

Mathew finished his plate and called back to his brother as he heard the shower kick on. "Alright then. Wash behind your ears, etc. etc." He waved his hand toward the bathroom as he picked up the rest of the dishes and walked to the sink.

_End of Ch. 3_

_I hope you all liked this chapter, it was low on action, but I think it set the stage for what's to come…_

_For a sneak peak into chapter 4, we'll have more good ol' mafia action, Alfred's arrival in Moscow and Mathew exploring one of Chicago's clubs~ oh my._

_And yes, if there are fellow hockey fans out there: I know the blackhawks weren't in existence until 1926, lets just pretend they were shall we? LOL and I know the Maple Leaves weren't called the maple leaves until 1927, but hey, I don't want to call them blue shirts. ….I am kind of guessing no one will care about this though XD…._

_Lastly, I hope no one minded, I only just realized this was a food heavy chapter…I guess if you want people to talk about things you sit around a meal? I promise gunfights and such soon!_

_I await your reviews with excitement!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Notes: I Hope you all like this chapter, whew! A lot happens now and man, did it take a while to write! Thank you to all who have faved/ added to alerts/ reviewed! I love you all! Thank you to Abbygreeneyes my sis, who contributed Gilbert and Mattie's conversation; you captured my vision perfectly!_

_I don't own Hetalia, etc._

_***There is just a little hot and heavy stuff in this chapter.*** Though not as much as will be in the next… (Intrigued?)_

Chapter 4: Evening, two days later.

Feliciano hummed contentedly to himself as he pulled on his suit jacket to conceal the guns holstered along each side where he could easily reach them. He looked himself once over in the mirror before nearly skipping to the elevator doors with glee.

He had found out much about the Byelorussian Natalya in the past two days since the rescue of his brother. He knew she and her sister were meeting tonight with a man from Lithuania who was supposed to be forming an alliance with her. He and his capo had formed a plan to ambush their rivals at the older sister's establishment tonight. Ludwig and some of his men were supposed to be meeting him in the lobby; He was on his way down to meet them now.

_Ludwig_…

As the elevator took him steadily down toward the lobby Feliciano's thoughts drifted back to that night not long ago when he'd drunkenly told Ludwig he loved him. A smile spread across his face at the memory. He had thought it might have been a dream, but as he awoke in the blonde man's strong arms he remembered faintly hearing the German returning his affections in his own tongue. When he had asked Ludwig if it had actually happened or been a dream, at first his capo had been silent, but he had finally looked away and blushing furiously, admitted it.

Ah, the night had gone as Feliciano had hoped! He had wanted to have the courage to tell Ludwig how he felt before getting as drunk as he had, but still, even if it had been subconscious, he had said it, and he felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted. Feliciano had been attracted to his hardworking capo As soon as he had met him, but it had only been recently that he had known he loved him. A man in his position always had girls throw themselves at him, and Feliciano had assumed he'd eventually pick one to be the mother of sons who would take on the business when he got too old, regardless of where his attractions lay. The petite boss's shoulders relaxed in relief that this responsibility would have to fall to Romano now.

All Feliciano wanted now was to get rid of his competition and celebrate back in his apartment with Ludwig.

Watching the arrow land on each floor's number, Feliciano's thoughts trailed back again to that morning a few days ago. After Ludwig had told him it hadn't all been a dream and had in fact happened, Feliciano had abandoned all pretenses and rushed into his tall German's arms. He leaned back against the elevator wall as he lost himself again in the memory of that moment.

_He could feel Ludwig's heart beating fast as he was enveloped in the larger man's arms. "Ve~" Feliciano purred into the broad chest as Ludwig ran his hand through the other man's mahogany hair and twirled a finger in Feliciano's curl. No more words were spoken. The smaller man looked up at his love, whose cool blue eyes were uncharacteristically wide. A moment passed while caramel eyes gazed into azure, and then Feliciano had been lifted off his feet and into a deep kiss. Neither man wasted any more time; their tongues intertwined and Feliciano lost himself in Ludwig's' arms, his taste, his heart beat._

Everything had fallen away while Feliciano was wrapped in those arms.

The two of them had spent hours that morning, each expressing how long they had loved the other. The Italian gushing out his feelings, his German love, blushing at Feliciano's affections and awkwardly returning them. They had laughed at themselves for not acting sooner, and had kissed. Kissed several times….He hadn't felt like the mafia boss he was and more simply, just a man happy to be in love.

Feliciano grinned. He was fairly sure he had left a mark somewhere on Ludwig's neck. He knew the stronger man had left one on his. It had been heavenly to forget his responsibilities for a time, but of course they had been kept from doing any more than kissing by a phone call relaying new information about the Byelorussian mob's activities.

It had been at a late breakfast that he and Ludwig had decided to attack swiftly and decisively. Since then it had been all business as the two were rarely alone, always meeting with their men to go over the plan.

Feliciano sighed knowing that both he and his capo had a long road ahead of them. In this business they would have to keep up the image Feliciano had worked so hard to create. He was momentarily anxious wondering how he would be able to keep his feelings for Ludwig hidden, but when the elevator doors opened and Feliciano saw the blonde standing tall and serious in a dark blue turtle neck he knew Ludwig would always have his emotions under control. Knowing this helped Feliciano bring his mind back to the present. He stood up straight, pushing himself away from the wall, and exited the elevator.

"Ciao Ludwig." He nodded to the three soldiers with him.

As the Italian stepped from the elevator toward him, Ludwig forced himself to focus on the mission at hand, and not the boss's big brown eyes or how good he looked in his suit. His heart had felt like it dropped into his stomach each time he'd seen Feliciano since that morning after their dinner. Each time he felt the overwhelming desire to grab the smaller man around the waist and run away with him, far, far away.

He always managed to control these thoughts, however, and he did again today. Keeping his face impassive, he motioned for his men to lead the way to the car and as they walked ahead of him, he placed his hand at the small of Feliciano's back for just a moment. It was the extent of affection he could allow himself to show while they were in public.

"Veh~" Feliciano let out a tiny sigh and Ludwig allowed himself the smallest of smiles.

A short drive later and they were outside the Gold Star. However, just as they pulled into the parking space across from the entrance to the hotel, Ludwig motioned for everyone to stay put.

The Byelorussian and her sister had just stepped out with a group of men, gotten into two cars and pulled out into the road. Ludwig looked to Feliciano who nodded his head.

Before long they were at the shipyard. The capo turned off his lights and engine and rolled to a silent stop some ways away from the two vehicles in front of them. Quietly, the five men excited the car, leaving the doors ajar. They followed in the darkness until they were close enough to hear the conversation taking place between the Byelorussian and a green eyed man with shoulder length brown hair, who must be the Lithuanian.

"Nat-Natalya, does..are you..that is.." The man stuttered, before composing himself and continuing, "That is, you're sure Ivan agrees with all this?" Even though he stood tall and had a dozen men behind him, I was clear to Ludwig even as far away as he stood, that this Lithuanian man was scared of the Byelorussian woman.

Perhaps there was good reason for the fear. Natalya stepped closer to the man, her voice was ice. "Are you calling me a liar? Are you saying I do not know what my brother wants, Toris?" Toris responded weakly. "Of course not Natalya, that's not what I'm saying at all!"

Ludwig couldn't help but notice the other sister, Katyusha, standing off to the side and looking out at the water. Apparently she didn't want to be here; the younger sister must be the one in charge. He turned his full attention back to the scene unfolding before them.

Natalya reached out to cup the shaking man's chin; she leaned in close. Ludwig had to strain to hear her. "So, we have a deal then? Your men at my disposal?" Toris nodded emphatically, "Yes, yes, anything for you Natalya." She smiled sweetly at his words and pulling his chin to hers, kissed him lightly on the lips. "Lovely. I'm so glad we've made this arrangement."

Ludwig knew the two would be leaving soon; he glanced at Feliciano beside him, who nodded, his face set. The blonde man waved to the other three he had brought with him, gesturing for each to come from a different position.

It was while he was waiting to see each man signal him that they were in position that it happened. One of the men must have fallen or done some other idiotic thing. A loud crash resounded around the yard as though someone had tripped into the side of one of the large metal shipping crates. Not only that, but a gunshot went off, ricocheting around the grouping of crates.

Ludwig cursed and saw the man, Toris, point toward them. "Someone – there!" The Byelorussian took aim and a dagger whizzed through the chill winter air directly at them. Ludwig pulled Feliciano into the shadows and stepped in front of him. He pulled out his pistol and heard his smaller companion behind him do the same.

Cautiously, they moved forward in the shadows. Feliciano took aim and down went one of the men ushering Katyusha away. Ludwig shot at the Lithuanian, but only just missed as one of his men moved in front of him. At least he'd gotten someone, even if it wasn't his intended target. Feliciano had emerged from the shadows now, and shot another man, this one, one of the Byelorussians. Ludwig covered him, one, two, then three, of the enemy's men fell.

Suddenly a shrill cry rent the air. "Vargas! Get him!" It was Natalya. She ran forward, her blue dress swirling around her knees in the wind, a white winter coat flaring out behind her. Both her daggers had been thrown already, one into one of their men in fact.

Running forward she grabbed a gun from one of her men and pointed it at Ludwig. He ducked the shot, rolling behind a barrel and shot back. The air was full of the sounds of bullets blasting from their chambers, whizzing through the air and finding their homes with either cries of pain or thuds as bodies fell to the ground.

Ludwig spared a glance to Feliciano who appeared to be holding his own. They had been outnumbered. Ludwig blamed himself for not planning for all possibilities. Natalya's bullet hit the barrel he'd been behind and Ludwig threw himself to the ground, rolled to his side, and took aim again.

This time his shot hit home. She had moved just enough that it didn't hit her heart as he had intended, but shot her in the hand as she aimed again. Her gun fell to the ground and she stared at the blood staining the sleeve of her white coat. A cry of "Sestra!" came from somewhere and the Lithuanian, Toris, turned.

Ludwig relished this moment; the man had let down his guard! From his place on the ground, he began to reload his pistol.

But before Ludwig could reload, the Lithuanian turned again and with a strangled cry pointed his gun at Feliciano who had just taken out one of the Byelorussian men. He wasn't even looking that direction!

The German capo jumped to his feet and ran toward his beloved Italian boss. His gun left behind amidst the scattered ammunition. "Feli!" He yelled to the other man, as he ran. Feliciano turned and seeing the situation, faced the Lithuanian and raised his gun.

It was as though time moved impossibly slow. The way it moves in nightmares. Ludwig ran, Feliciano took aim, and Toris' shot fired from his gun, a second before Feliciano's.

The Lithuanian ducked out of the way of the Italian's shot, but Feliciano wasn't fast enough to do the same. Just as Ludwig reached him he saw the bullet hit him in the chest. His love staggered a moment, and touched the spot on his light blue shirt that was quickly turning crimson. His eyes wide, Feliciano aimed again, but the shot went wild.

Toris had run to Natalya's side and hurried her away; she was loudly protesting, but apparently making no headway. Both Byelorussians and Lithuanians were retreating, leaving Ludwig, Feliciano, and their remaining man behind.

"GET THE CAR!" Ludwig shouted at the man who emerged from behind a crate. His soldier ran off immediately and soon the roar of the engine was heard as the car approached.

The strong blonde lifted his petite boss into his arms. Feliciano blinked slowly, and wrapped one arm around Ludwig's neck, the other cradled close to his body. The German's heart raced. So much blood. Feliciano's eyes glazed and closed slowly.

"Feli, stay vith me!" he commanded as his heart filled with terror at the amount of blood his Feliciano was losing. He ran to the car as it approached, carrying his love against his chest, his sweater growing warm and sticky with the smaller Italian's blood.

The tall man ducked as he slid into the backseat. "I vill not lose you Feli." He whispered as they sped down the street.

Feliciano blinked and looked up at Ludwig from his chest; large brown eyes unfocused. "Ve~ Ludwig…" He nodded off again.

Ludwig held him closer willing the blood to stop flowing out of the slender body. His eyes stung with threatened tears.

"Nein." He spoke to himself, "I vill not cry." He fought back the tears and the terror of losing Feliciano with one thought: If he lost his Feli, Ludwig would see everyone associated with Natalya and Toris dead. Everyone; He would see to it personally.

…

While Ludwig rushed Feliciano to the trusted physician, across town, Mathew had just been at the cinema and was beginning to make his way back to his brother's apartment.

He left the theatre drying his eyes slightly. As with all historical movies, 'The Last of The Mohicans' couldn't claim perfect historical accuracy, but the fate of Uncas and Cora had still pulled at his heartstrings.

His brother Alfred had left for Russia that morning. True to his word Mathew had gone out on the town, but now he was tired, teary eyed from the movie's ending, and ready to relax at Alfred's and catch up on his reading.

As Mathew walked, he buttoned his tweed jacket and wrapped a scarf around his neck. He lived in Canada, but though he had traveled south to Illinois, the wind blew more strongly and much colder here. The windy city certainly deserved its nickname, but why would anyone have built a city here, he wondered to himself.

Suddenly as he rounded a corner, the sounds of lively jazz music flew to him on that same wind. Looking up, he saw a bright yellow door surrounded by neon lights. The name 'The Roost' flashed in golden lights above the door.

Mathew thought to himself, It was so cold, and he rarely was able to see live music, so what would the harm be in stopping for a respite from the weather before continuing back to the apartment?

Smiling, the blonde young history professor opened the door and was greeted by warmer temperatures and the sounds of people having a good time. He removed his jacket as he made his way through the crowds to have a seat. Off to the right was a crowded dance floor, to the left, a bar.

He stopped for a moment, remembering that in his brother's country alcohol was against the law. Well, he just wouldn't imbibe; it would be as simple as that. Besides, he didn't know if the bar served alcohol, anyway. Usually, Mathew would have been more cautious, but the easy atmosphere of the Roost was irresistible and he could feel it loosening his shoulders.

"Excuse me" he said to a couple as he passed by them on the way to an open seat within view of the stage.

He hadn't gotten very far when he felt his shirt collar tighten against his throat. Someone had grabbed him from behind! Mathew felt himself being pushed through the crowd and against a wall and then turned to face his attackers.

It was that same couple! The long haired brunette had a murderous look on her face, and it was her strong arm that had him so well secured. His eyes widened in shock as the dark haired man stepped closer and spoke.

"You've got a lot of nerve showing your face around here Mr. Jones."

The man's accent was foreign, subtle, almost...German? He'd called him Jones. It wouldn't be the first time Matthew had been mistaken for his brother. "Excuse me but..." The dark haired man didn't give him time to explain his mistake.

"Rest assured the Italians will hear about this." The man sneered and straightened his immaculate coat. "In the meantime I believe you and I have some personal business to attend to."

Matthew gasped as he felt the woman's strong arm tighten painfully. The man was remarkably formal for someone who assaulted strangers.

He tilted his head to the left and Matthew followed his eyes to a see a door he could only assume led somewhere private; anywhere private was not somewhere he wanted to be with the violent couple. He pulled against the woman's hold as she began to drag him toward the door following the man's lead. He felt his abductor chuckle. "So docile Jones, I expected more of a fight." Her voice was lovely, in sharp contrast to Matt's impression of her.

"Hey!"

Matt suddenly felt himself jerked around and he came face to face with a shocking sight. A tall, pale man, with bright white hair and unfathomably red eyes had placed a hand on the woman's shoulder and spun them around.

"How many times do I have to tell you Lizzie? No. Business. In. The. Roost."

Matthew heard the clicking of the other man's boots before he saw him step between them and the new arrival. "You will refrain from referring to my wife so informally, Beilschmidt!"

The red eyed man laughed without any regard for discretion.

"You don't want to piss off Feliciano, _Gilbert_." The brunette sneered.

The man, Gilbert, stopped laughing but remained firm in his demand. "Vargas knows my policy. Anybody in The Roost has amnesty. I can't have you messing with my awesome atmosphere, babe."

"Then I suppose we'll just be having our little chat with Mr. Jones elsewhere." The dark haired man stated crisply. "Elizaveta, remain here while I call for the car."

Before he could take his leave however Gilbert interrupted. He took in the wide blue-violet eyes and terrified expression on the young man's face.

This was Alfred Jones? The B.O.I's top man in Chicago? Gilbert Beilschmidt had never met Alfred Jones personally but he was having a hard time believing this was him. Either way how could he send the guy to his fate when he was giving him such a desperate, _attractive_ expression?

All right so you wouldn't think a government man would go for the owner of a speakeasy but eh, Gilbert didn't doubt his persuasive skills. Besides, you wouldn't expect a B.O.I agent to be looking so adorably timid either.

"No dice Edelstein," He folded his arms. "like I said, amnesty. Jones stays."

"This will not make Feliciano happy." Elizaveta growled.

Gilbert laughed again. "We have an agreement. Now let the man go before you spoil the mood further."

Matthew's would-be kidnappers exchanged a look and he felt the woman reluctantly let him slip out of her vice-like grip. He ducked away quickly, instinctively moving towards the man who'd intervened on his behalf.

Sending the pair a last scathing look the couple quickly swept through the crowd and out the Roost's bright yellow door.

Matthew turned to look into his savior's startling eyes. "Thank you." He stammered.

"Not a problem." The albino let loose a huge grin and slung his arm around the blonde's shoulders. "You're not really Alfred Jones are you? The Alfred Jones who single handedly took down Fat Carlos the Cuban?"

Matt blushed feeling a sudden rush of insecurity. No, he was not the Alfred Jones the agent who, apparently, single handedly took down Cuban mobsters; He was Matthew Williams the history professor who single handedly flipped pancakes.

He shook his head. "No, I'm Matt Williams. Alfred's brother." He wasn't sure if he should be admitting to that last part but felt he owed the man some explanation for the confusion. "We're twins."

Again, the white haired man was laughing, did he ever cut that out?

"You must not get out much. Or you don't if you know what's good for you. Come on, let me take you up to the bar. You can drink on the house tonight for your trouble." _'And my benefit. Hopefully._' Gilbert thought to himself with a smirk.

Matthew let himself be led to the bar. Sure there was prohibition in America but well, he was Canadian after all, and he could really use a drink to calm his nerves after what had just happened to him. "Well I guess it's okay," He muttered "There's no prohibition in Canada."

Gilbert's face lit up. "Oh you're Canadian? Cute! Say 'Eh' or 'Aboot'! "

Matthew blushed. It was pretty hypocritical of the clearly accented German to making fun of his own accent which was so incredibly slight it was almost imperceptible.

Matthew refused to answer. He took a seat on one of The Roost's sleek leather bar stools and watched as Gilbert took his place behind the bar. The place was busy but most people were at tables already drinking happily and enjoying the music. They had the long bar almost entirely to themselves except for a group clustered at the end.

He was about to ask for one of his favorite cocktails when something behind the bar caught his eye. Nestled next to the cash register looking fat and happy on top of a soft black hat was a fat, fluffy, totally real, live baby chick.

"Piyo!" it cheeped as if noticing Matthew's attention. _'Isn't this against the health code?'_ is what he meant to ask but what came out was a kind of strangled sound of joy. It was just that adorable. Matthew had a secret weakness for fat fluffy things. Only his brother was privy to this information, taking every opportunity to make fun of him for it, but Matthew still kept his plush childhood polar bear. It was in Alfred's guest room right now in fact.

"Gilbird likes you!" The albino bartender exclaimed happily scooping the little chick up into his hands and delicately placing him on the bar before Matthew who felt like his heart was melting so fast it could be on tap. He did note the name however thinking to himself_ 'Gilbird? Right, that's not narcissistic at all.' _

"Can I pat him?" He asked in spite of himself. He couldn't stand to make eye contact with the man behind the bar. The look on his face was making Matthew uncomfortable to say the least.

"Of course." Gilbert replied busying himself behind the bar, though he continued to steal glances at the pair. Gilbird was cheeping happily and fluttered his little wings at Matthew's touch. Gilbert didn't think he'd seen the chick take to anyone like this in a long time. At least not since the last time the baby faced Feliciano had come to the Roost.

"Here." He had finally finished and set the drink on the bar in front of the curly haired blonde. "Singapore sling. A sweet drink for a sweet boy." He winked and made a show of running the cherry across his lips before dropping it in the gin mixer.

Matt was taken aback. He was a fairly open minded man, especially for his times. He knew what he liked and wasn't afraid to admit it to himself but he'd never met someone so open and flirtatious. It seemed dangerous but it was compelling. More compelling than he wanted to admit. Especially not to Gilbert himself. The last thing the man needed was an ego boost. Honestly, Matt hadn't known him for even an hour and he could already tell he was as bad as Alfred.

He sipped the drink appreciatively and Gilbert could see the approval in his eyes. _Hell yeah, nobody mixed a cocktail like he did. _

"Piyo!" Gilbird fluttered to land on the blond Canadian's shoulder and Matthew gave the little bird an affectionate smile.

Gilbert felt his gut do a flip. He was torn between wanting to smother the adorable man against his chest or dragging him behind the bar and giving him a thoroughly awesome time.

_'All in due time'_ he thought with an evil smile _'all in due time, mein leibling.' _

Gilbert continued to ply his latest obsession with free drinks, which was no small favor, and spent the next hours flirting and coaxing him slowly out of his shyness.

Unnoticed by the budding lovebirds a short, dark haired Italian at the end of the bar had been watching them with a sour look. By the time Gilbert had leaned across the bar and knotted his fingers in the surprised Canadian's hair, he downed his drink and slamming it on the table, stormed out.

…..

Completely unaware of the events unfolding at home, Alfred Jones stepped off the plane into a Moscow blizzard. As his feet left the last step, he found himself instantly forced to wade through the knee deep snow drifts. He held onto his short brimmed trilby hat, as the snow laden gusts of wind buffeted him. Alfred was immensely glad he had listened to his brother and bought a better, longer winter coat. The long black wool coat stood out in sharp contrast to his surroundings.

He made his way slowly through the snow toward the light shining weakly through the blizzard that denoted the airport office. Alfred had had to remove his glasses, as they had fogged up immediately and at any rate, the view was so blurry from snowfall that it hardly made a difference.

Once inside he showed his entrance visa to the airport clerk who clearly did not speak English but appeared to recognize his name and merely said "Da" and pointed to a tall man in a long tan coat who stood reading a newspaper across the way.

Alfred turned and immediately recognized Ivan from memory and the photo in the file. The tall, broad Russian even had on that scarf he had worn when they first met in battle so long ago.

Alfred had practiced some basic Russian on the plane ride over. He approached the man, who had lowered the paper and was looking at him with a small smile.

"Privyet. Ya Alfred Jones. Ve dolzjne bit Ivan Braginski." He held out his hand and Ivan took it; his grip was strong and firm and he smiled at Alfred. "Ne Plohuh"

Alfred had only learned a few things and had no idea what Ivan had said. "Um, you speak English, right?" He asked, "I only know a little Russian."

Ivan replied in a voice much softer than his appearance. "Da, I speak English." He smiled down at Alfred, who was just slightly shorter than the large Russian. "Ne plohuh means not bad. Your Russian was not bad."

"Oh, thank you!" Alfred said beaming. He had really worked on that line on the way here. "Your English is good too." He returned the compliment.

"Thank you." Ivan looked out the window at the swirling snow, his violet eyes clouding for a moment before he turned back to the American agent. "It will be difficult to drive in blizzard now, but worse if we wait." Alfred certainly had to agree. The two men made their way out the doors and into the snow. Alfred had to take off his useless glasses again, just to be able to make out Ivan's shape ahead enough to be able to follow it. When they finally reached the Russian's car, Alfred helped him scrape the snow away from the windshield and they climbed inside.

As Ivan started the engine, Alfred noticed there was no heater in the car. "No heat?" he asked shivering. Ivan looked at Alfred and appeared to be feeling sorry for him.

"You are not used to such cold, da?" The man's pale violet eyes softened as they searched Alfred's face.

"Its cold in Chicago, believe me, but this is far colder than winter has any business being!" He shivered again and rubbed his arms to stimulate blood flow.

The Russian sighed, and then chuckled lightly. "My home is not far, I have a gas heater there."

They drove in silence as Ivan concentrated on the icy roads and Alfred prayed they'd make it alive and hoped the visit would be worth it.

When at last they had climbed the four flights of stairs to Ivan's apartment, Alfred, seeing the heater on and blazing away threw off his coat and hat and rushed to stand near it.

"I am glad to see you are already so at ease." Ivan said, picking up the discarded coat and hat to hang them on the stand beside the door.

"Oh," Alfred flushed, "Sorry about that, I guess I wasn't thinking."

"Do not worry; I know the cold can effect the mind." Ivan said a bit sadly as he too removed his coat to reveal a plain but warm white sweater. Alfred noticed that the scarf stayed on.

Ivan disappeared into his kitchen for a moment before returning with a bottle of clear liquid and two short glasses. He filled them both and handed one to Alfred. "The best way to chase away winter." He said with a smile.

"Oh, uh…" Alfred balked at drinking the substance he now recognized as vodka. "Alcohol is illegal in my country." He made to hand the glass back to Ivan but the other man did not move to take it. Instead he stared at him, his small smile turning to a frown. "Vodka is not cheap right now. Drink."

"Uh, I don't mean to offend," Alfred began, but then stopped as the Russian interrupted him. "You are not in America anymore Mr. Jones. We drink vodka when it is offered to us in Russia."

Alfred really didn't want to start off on the wrong foot so he agreed and took a sip. Woah, it was strong! He had drunk beer and whiskey before prohibition, but being a man devoted to his government, he hadn't had a drink since. Ivan chuckled into his scarf at Alfred's expression. "Good, Da?" He smiled.

Alfred wasn't about to let the Russian laugh at him, so he took a larger gulp and said, already feeling the effects, "Great!"

"Na Zdorov'ye!" Ivan smiled, lifting his glass, his lavender eyes alight, "To your health" he translated for Alfred. "Oh, Cheers!" Alfred said in return, clinking his glass on Ivan's.

Both men sat on Ivan's sofa in front of the heater and had another drink before Alfred remembered his reason for coming. "Ivan," he began as he leaned forward, his empty glass being refilled by his Russian companion. "You recall I mentioned wanting to discuss your sisters?"

Ivan smiled wide and radiated happiness. "Da, dear Katyusha and Natalya! How are they?"

"Good, good I think." Alfred started to wish he had put more information in the letter, but feared it would already be highly censored by the time it had reached Ivan. "Um, actually your older sister is running a very successful, if illegal, business. Your younger sister is leading a mob, and she actually came to me asking me to give her freedom to control the crime in Chicago in return for getting rid of the Italian family who currently run the town. I've been fighting them for years and getting nowhere I admit, but I don't much like the idea of trading one criminal for another."

Ivan was not smiling anymore and was whispering a word repeatedly that Alfred didn't recognize. "She said she's acting on your behalf; that's what I wanted to talk to you about." He continued, just to stop the unnerving chanting.

Ivan spoke and it made Alfred shiver even though he was now toasty from the vodka and the proximity to the heater. "Katyusha has always been honest with me about her capitalist leanings…I do not approve, she knows this, but she will do as she likes, just not here. I do miss her…" he trailed off before remembering Natalya. He took another swig of vodka, and seeing that Alfred's glass was empty again refilled it. "Natalya…her actions do not sound like she is thinking of the good of the people. Instead it sounds as though she wants to replace the mafia and get rich off the backs of the working man." He frowned and inwardly Alfred grinned. He had been right, Ivan was way more reasonable than his little sister. Surely he would put a stop to her organization, hopefully after she had procured a confession for Feliciano Vargas.

Alfred's confidence in his plan was soon shattered however, as Ivan put a finger to his chin and looked off, deep in thought. "Although, rampant crime and terror cause anarchy. From anarchy the people will rise up and demand justice. Socialism comes from anarchy, and so peace and prosperity to the common man!"

Oh no, Alfred did not like where this looked to be headed. He gulped down some more vodka as he tried to think of what to say next. Ivan continued, "Yes, maybe she is thinking of the good of the people afterall, they only do not know how better off they will be once they free themselves from self imposed oppression!"

Alfred had been trying to think of a diplomatic way to steer the conversation back to what he considered rational, but the last remark was too much. He stood, swaying a little, but recovering. "Just what are you implying Ruski? Democracy and capitalism happen to be the greatest things for any people! You're free to decide your own fate, and make as much money as you can! Americas the greatesh nation there is! He realized he slurred that last part but was too heated to care.

"I agree with you about democracy," Ivan countered still sitting on the sofa. "But true democracy and capitalism cannot coincide. Your government is controlled by fat cats and bankers who have all the money and make all the decisions." He leaned back calm and sure in his words.

Alfred blurted out without thinking, "At least in America people aren't starving to death by the droves, and I don't see us having another civil war! Apparently some Russians don't agree with your brand of _democracy._" He stressed the last word and put his hands on his hips, his once again empty glass on the table.

With a low growl Ivan sprang from the sofa and pinned Alfred to the wall. "You know nothing of what it is to suffer! You know nothing of famine! We all struggle here, we all struggle together! The war, the war is what has caused the Russian people to starve! I'm sorry the war was fought here and in Europe, not on your precious American land! American soil was not burned and spoiled, no, she kept her…her.." Ivan lost his train of thought as he looked into Alfred's wide blue eyes. "her fields of cotton," He took in the gold of Alfred's blonde hair, "her prairie of wheat and corn," His eyes lingered on Alfred's lips, slightly parted and trying to form a retort. "her…her..fruitful plains."

Still pinned against the wall, all of Alfred's thoughts of a snappy response were instantly dispelled as he felt Ivan's lips on his own. They were surprisingly warm and soft. He felt the Russian's tongue along his lips and involuntarily parted them farther so their tongues could explore each other's mouths.

He felt his arms freed from above his head as Ivan began to unbutton his shirt, his hands reaching up underneath to caress his chest and circle around his back to pull him closer.

Alfred could have pushed him away then, but instead he locked his hands behind Ivan's scarf-clad neck and twisted his fingers in the Russian's pale hair.

They finally broke for air and Ivan whispered in Alfred's ear, "I remember you."

Alfred gasped as the other man nibbled on his ear. "I remember you too."

Ivan smiled and reached down to Alfred's belt. "I wanted to do this then as well."

_End of Chapter 4_

_What kind of history does Roderich, Elizaveta, Gilbert, and Alfred have, you ask?_

_Elizaveta got rid of a witness for Feli, but the body was found and traced to her. Roderich took the blame for her, However, during the trial, Feliciano bought off enough officials to get it pegged as a manslaughter instead of murder. Rod still did time, but he's out now and naturally the two hate Alfred, as he was the one to bring the investigation about in the first place. Before this all happened however, Elizaveta and Gilbert had a short fling, Roderich and Gilbert still have a lot of tension between them because of it_

_I await reviews with bated breathe! I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it._

_Top of Form_

_Bottom of Form_


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello all! Thank you all for such wonderful reviews! You guys are wonderful and I hope you like this chapter! __**We really earn that M rating with this one and there is a lemon. Just incase that's not to your liking, you've been forewarned. I tried to put in a page break but the site didn't render it, so anyway, you know its coming.**__ We pick up right where we left off last chapter. (oh and there is a bit of Russian and Italian in this chapter, the translations to which are provided at the end! Oh – and a huge danke to my sis of course, - I got Alfred and Ivan ready to go, up to home plate so to speak and she got them all the way home! It was a lemon made to order LOL enjoy chapter 5, I look forward to hearing what you think! (I know, I know, its not a Ger/Ita lemon, but well, ya know it'll be a doozy when it comes!)_

_Ch 5_

The Russian's fingers worked the American's belt; Alfred's breathe caught in his throat. The other man was kissing along his neck now and oh, it felt good. What was that thought that had been so important a moment ago and now was only a half formed memory?

His shirt was fully open now and Alfred lowered his arms to shrug it off as Ivan moved his kisses down to the American's chest. Alfred lowered his face into Ivan's pale hair, as the other freed his belt from his pants in one fluid motion and tossed it aside.

There was that small smile again as Ivan stood, his shockingly violet eyes locking onto Alfred's wide blue ones. Suddenly Alfred realized he was the only one missing an article of clothing. When Ivan leaned in for another kiss Alfred reached down to the edge of the taller man's sweater and began to lift it up exposing the Russian's chest. He was just about to un-wrap the scarf to make removing the sweater easier when Ivan pulled back with a whispered "Nyet"

He took over from Alfred and maneuvered himself out of his sweater without disturbing the scarf around his neck. The tall Russian then grabbed the American agent around the waist and lifted him with ease. It felt a bit strange and oddly familiar to be carried, but Alfred couldn't complain; the two kissed furiously, almost desperately, as they moved across the living room and into the bedroom.

Alfred felt the softness of the mattress below him as Ivan lowered him onto it. The Russian then let his kisses drift down Alfred's abdomen as he unbuttoned his pants.

Alfred's head tilted back into the mattress, and he grabbed handfuls of Ivan's blankets as the other began pulling his pants down slowly, caressing him and kissing his inner thigh lightly. Something wasn't right, this wasn't what he'd come to do, he had had something to say…what was it?

"I, uh" Alfred fumbled his words as his pants were finally tossed aside and he felt Ivan climb atop him. He looked up into those lavender eyes and his heart beat raced at the feeling of their bodies against one another. "I…uh, um, I'm not done talking about this."

It sounded weaker than he'd intended.

"Da, Da.." Ivan leaned down and locked his lips in another kiss. It was as they broke for air that Alfred realized Ivan had removed his own pants already as well. The sensation of his hips against Ivan's sent him over the edge, but Alfred couldn't give in so easily.

"I mean it, I.." but the rest was lost in a moan as Ivan bit lightly on the American's nipple.

"Kakoy vkusniy sosok." Ivan mumbled as he continued to move his lips back up toward Alfred's.

"Huh?" Alfred glanced down through heavily lidded eyes, but was answered only with that tiny smile and another enigmatic sentence. "Bozhe moĭ, kak ya hochu tebya."

The blond tried to stifle a groan, not wanting his partner to know what effect he had on him when he spoke in his mother tongue. Especially not when he couldn't be sure of what the man was saying.

Violet eyes closed and Alfred felt large hands take hold of his face. His jaw rested firmly in the other man's palms and long fingers grasped behind his ears to play with golden hair as he was drawn in for another kiss. Ivan parted Alfred's lips with his tongue and tasted the flavor of the vodka that lingered there.

Alfred had moved his hands up his partner's scar strewn back and let his hands cup his broad shoulders. He massaged Ivan's tense muscles and felt the vibration of his appreciative groans as the tall Russian continued to kiss him. Ivan pulled him down, letting his head rest on the pillow as he moved his hands lower to appreciate Alfred's chest while never breaking their kiss.

His American was well built and muscular but Ivan could tell he had a more delicate bone structure. He appreciated the agent's smaller waist and ran his fingers over the ridges of his perfect abdominals. Alfred's skin was only lightly tanned but seemed golden in comparison to Ivan's own.

Finally the bolshevik broke the kiss. They both gasped for air and Ivan brought his hands down to the waistband of the American agent's boxers. They were both perfectly hard and straining against the confines of their underwear. Alfred didn't protest as Ivan began to slide off his last remaining article of clothing. He lifted his hips and groaned at the feeling of fabric sliding across his erection.

As he threw the boxers away on the floor Ivan took a moment to enjoy the sight before him. Alfred was propped up on his elbows and he was watching Ivan with a look of pure lust. His legs were slightly parted and Ivan could see a silvery trickle of precum dripping from the reddened head of his cock. Ivan wrapped a hand around it experimentally eliciting a hiss of pleasure from the man beneath him. Its heat burned Ivan and he began to stroke loving the way the head of Alfred's cock stood up proudly refusing to be encased fully even by Ivan's massive hand. Ivan loved an ample cock though it was hard to find any that held out in comparison to his own.

Alfred was impatient and unhappy with being the only one undressed no matter how good the Russian's hand felt on his cock. He pulled away and sat up intent on freeing Ivan from his confines. Ivan was obliging, helping Alfred to undress him. He watched his partner intently waiting for the reaction that he knew from experience was bound to come. Sure enough Ivan's ears were graced with a much appreciated gasp. _God he loved it when they reacted like that. _He felt the agent's two calloused hands engulf his length and he moaned in response, bucking slightly.

Wide blue eyes looked up at him and were rewarded with a small devilish smile.

_'oh that does it' _Alfred thought _'it's time to turn the tables' _

Ivan had latched onto Alfred's neck. One arm wrapped around his partner's thin middle and drew the American close, the other snaked it's way around his back and let a hand slide down to squeeze his ass and press their hips together. Alfred wasn't having any of it! He clamped his mouth shut refusing to let out the sounds of delight that were building up in his throat from the feeling of the Russian's lips sucking on his collar bone and his teeth biting down on Alfred's warm flesh. Alfred grabbed a handful of Ivan's silver hair and violently wrenched him off his neck. He couldn't hold back a yelp of pain as Ivan bit down in retaliation only to be ripped away by the yanking of his hair. From the wet smack that resounded in the quiet apartment and the pain that was blossoming Alfred knew Ivan had succeeded in leaving a bruise.

Alfred brought a hand up to Ivan's shoulder and turned at the waist attempting to shift their positions and press Ivan down beneath him. The two struggled against each other from their position on their knees atop Ivan's bed. Alfred caught Ivan's lips in a possessive kiss and their tongues mimicked their hands in a struggle for dominance.

Finally Ivan managed to wedge his knee between Alfred's legs and pull him down by his hair. He pinned him beneath the full weight of his chest. Alfred was surprised to hear the return of that soft chanting._ 'Kolkolkol.'_ Ivan's face was split with a broad, wicked grin and his violet eyes were narrowed.

"What is it you Americans say? My house, my rules?"

Alfred balked, a blush spreading across his cheeks. He hadn't expected the Russian to be so forward about the issue.

'_That's some crap hospitality._' he thought but found himself incapable of criticizing any saying to come out of his own land.

"That's...that's not how that works..." He put up a half-hearted protest but felt his resolve crumbling.

"Okay Ruski," He glared and Ivan's face returned to one of childish delight. "but God help you if you ever come to America."

"Da, da, da..." He whispered against Alfred's lips as he leaned in to kiss him slowly. "kakoy ti vkusniy."

_'don't let on. don't let on.'_ Alfred recited in his head but in the end he couldn't resist. He moaned at the sound of the words and let Ivan push him harder against the bed. He thrust upwards letting his cock, slick with precum, glide against the Russian's stomach.  
Ivan chuckled and his voice came out soft and low. "Chto Eta? Do you like it when I speak in Russian, my little American?"

Alfred growled and squirmed beneath him, his face crimson with embarrassment. "Don't call me that you bastard!"

"I will call you whatever I want, moi krasivee muzhik." Ivan teased, rubbing himself against the man beneath him.

"Shut up!" Alfred drew in a deep breath. His lust may have been tinged with annoyance but he needed Ivan. He was craving the release the large man on top of him could provide. "Do you...you know...do you have anything to use as lube?"

Ivan blinked in confusion and stumbled over the foreign word. "lube?" he didn't remember being taught that in English class. If it was possible Alfred blushed even harder. Dammit, how was he supposed to explain this? He raised two fingers and made a thrusting motion thinking he would die of embarrassment. "Lube, um, oil, grease...to ease the way?"

Comprehension dawned in Ivan's violet eyes. He nuzzled Alfred's neck, licking over the bruise he had left there earlier. "So eager!"

Reluctantly he pulled away from the warm body beneath him. "I will not keep you waiting." He purred "I have something in the kitchen."

With a final longing kiss he left Alfred on the bed wondering how he had gotten into this predicament, and with the government footing the bill, no less!

Before he had a chance to work himself up into a guilty frenzy over flying to Moscow on the tax payer's dime only to end up in this compromising position, Ivan was back with a small tub that he set on the bedside table. His large hands succeeded in chasing away all of Alfred's doubts as they caressed his body. Ivan was finding it harder and harder to ignore his own erection. If the American was eager for his release, so was he.

He bent low and gripped the base of Alfred's shaft slipping his partner's length into his mouth. Alfred sighed in pleasure as heat surrounded him and Ivan's large, soft tongue began to stroke him.

Ivan loved the feel of Alfred on his tongue and the taste of his precum. Carefully he reached for the tub on the bedside table and greased two fingers, rubbing them together to warm the substance before tentatively placing one finger at Alfred's entrance.

He could feel the heat emanating from the tight ring of muscle. He looked up to see Alfred's blue eyes shut tight, his face flushed, his forehead beginning to perspire, he could see the blonde bite his bottom lip to contain a moan and he watched those blue eyes snap open as he pushed his first finger inside. He could feel the tremor that went throughout the blonde's body. He was so tight Ivan could tell it must have been awhile since he last had a partner. He understood, they were both men in high profile jobs. Their lives were full of stress without much time for diversion. He would make the most of this opportunity for release. And with such a handsome little foreigner too! The Bolshevik had never forgotten the American pilot he had met all those years ago; the blue eyed man had not changed at all. He pumped Alfred harder and ran his tongue around his leaking tip while he began to massage him inside and coax his entrance into relaxing.

Alfred arched his back and attempted to push farther into the beautiful violet-eyed Russian's mouth. It had been so long since he had felt a stranger's fingers inside of him. He could tell his body was resisting the intrusion but the more he focused on the pleasure of Ivan's hands and mouth, the more he felt himself giving in. The heat that pooled in his gut and flamed in his erection spread lower to where Ivan was teasing his puckered entrance.

He groaned as he felt Ivan press in a second digit. Damn, he had such large fingers!

Ivan thrust his own erection against the sheets. He couldn't wait to replace his fingers with something more intimate. Alfred was unbearably tight and warm and the thought of being inside of him was sending Ivan's blood rushing south. The tip of his pale cock was red with need. He scissored his fingers to stretch Alfred's entrance in preparation for his girth. He moaned, sending pleasant vibrations along Alfred's erection which in turn caused the blond to whimper and arch his back further arousing the Russian. He could feel Alfred hardening in his mouth, he could hear the quickening of his breath and feel the trembling of the hands that were gently clutching Ivan's own hair. Knowing that Alfred was close to completion, Ivan greased a third finger and pushed it in. Finally he began to move his fingers in and out, quickening his pace as Alfred cried out and finally came in his mouth.

Ivan swallowed his partner's seed without hesitation before pulling back to wipe his mouth and enjoy the sight of the American panting against his sheets. His hair was damp and spread out against the pillow. Blue eyes regarded him with exhaustion and satisfaction.

Ivan would give him just a moment to rest while he coated his unbearably hard cock from the tub on the bedside table. He would remember this night fondly the next time he was frying blinchiki.

He stroked Alfred's wilting erection back to full hardness and spread the American's legs. Ivan placed his hands on his hips and positioned himself at his entrance. He could barely contain himself but forced himself to check his need. "You are ready?" He asked. When the American nodded Ivan pushed in faster than he meant too.

"Yeblia!" The Russian swore. His eyes closed as he savored the feeling. He managed to stop himself halfway in only due to the sound of Alfred's surprised cry. He could see pain etched on the American's face even if he tried to conceal it. In sympathy Ivan gave him time to adjust and stroked the blonde's cock, distracting Alfred with pleasure until he felt him relax and allow Ivan to push fully inside.

He began slowly at first until he felt the man beneath him begin to thrust back against him. Alfred reached down to take hold of his own cock and Ivan took the invitation to increase his speed and lean in to capture Alfred's lips in a kiss.

The more receptive Alfred proved to be, the harder Ivan fucked him. He lifted the blonde's legs, placing one over each shoulder and pushed himself as deep inside as he could possibly go. Alfred let him know when he had found just the right spot by releasing a strangled cry and beginning to pump himself harder as he moaned the Russian's name. "Ah, Ivan...Ivan..."

The scarf tangled between them and Ivan felt the pressure building inside of him. He dug his fingernails into Alfred's hips and groaned. Alfred shook his head from side to side as he lost control. Finally he tilted his head to the left and buried his face in the pillow as he came all across his stomach and onto Ivan's scarf.

"Smotryet na menya!" Ivan demanded, grabbing Alfred by the hair and forcing his blue eyes to make contact with his own violet as Ivan pushed in deeper with a final hard thrust and spilt himself inside the young American agent.

Ivan pulled out and Alfred allowed himself to be wrapped in the Russian's muscular arms. "Sorry about your scarf." He sighed, snuggling against that very thing.

"It is fine." Ivan replied stroking Alfred's hair. "I know how to clean it."

_'And,_' he thought _'what Katyusha doesn't know can't upset her.'_

Ivan covered them with the heavy blankets and they slept the night through, warm together in spite of the blizzard raging outside.

…

Across several countries and the vast Atlantic Ocean, it may as well as have been a different world for the tall blonde resting his head in his folded arms as he leaned over the side of the bed. Beneath the fingers of one outstretched hand he felt the movements that proved to him with each flutter that his Feliciano was alive.

Ludwig ran his fingers absentmindedly along the blankets covering the small brunette's chest as it rose and fell. His heart ached with each slight shudder.

When they had arrived at the doctor's home, Ludwig had been so sure he'd lost his Feli. The smaller man had grown cold and limp in his arms, Ludwig was only too aware of how he'd shaken as he had laid him down on the table. When the doctor had removed the young Mafioso's blood soaked shirt the capo's knees had nearly buckled. Ludwig hated himself for how weak he'd allowed fear to make him. The face of his soldier had told him just how clear his feelings for the boss had been.

Seeing those raised eyebrows on the young Italian man, some second cousin of Feliciano's, had been like a slap to the face. Though he had still been racked with uncertainly and fear for his wounded love, he knew he had to stop things before they started and luckily his reputation was still sufficient for a well aimed look and silent threat to carry some weight. He'd sent the man away to call for Romano.

This had left him alone with Feliciano and the doctor. Ludwig had stood frozen beside the thin brunette stretched on the table, his fingers clasping the edges. Feli had been shot just above and to the left of the heart; the bullet grazed the top of his left lung and sliced his subclavian artery before exiting out his back. He had been exceptionally close to death.

In his lap Ludwig kept the blood stained shirt he'd thought the petite Italian had looked so good in before they had left that night. He had refused to change from the sweater he'd been wearing. The stiff feeling of dried blood would remind him how close he'd come to losing everything tonight.

Once Feliciano was stabilized they had carefully transported him back to his home. Ludwig knew he didn't have much time alone with Feli, even unconscious, he wanted every second he could hold onto, but Romano would arrive soon, as would anyone else Feliciano's loud mouthed older brother had told.

Ludwig finally looked up toward the sleeping man. He leaned off the bed and ran his fingers through his unusually disheveled blonde hair. Why had he had to fall in love? Why had Feli felt the same way? It put them in even more danger than the already were.

His stomach knotted as the Italian's breathe rattled again through his injured lung. Ludwig dropped his head back down to his arms. It was no use, he loved Feli, he knew they both led dangerous lives; it was probable that both he and Feliciano would have more brushes with death…in fact, it would be delusional to think otherwise.

Ludwig sighed heavily into the blanket beneath his folded arms. Men in Feliciano's position rarely got to die old and asleep the way everyone wants to go. As this thought entered his mind he came to only one conclusion. He had known this from the outset; this is what men like he and his beautiful but dangerous brunette did. Death would follow them everywhere; he would just have to make each day matter. The German's lips turned up at the edges slightly, though his face remained grim at a second thought. He voiced his thoughts aloud as an oath; his head still buried in the blankets, a finger still outstretched to feel his love's chest rise and fall.

"If death takes you from me Feli, and I still breath, no power vill save those responsible."

After this Ludwig rested in silence, shoulders slumped, he reached down toward the Italian's hand and twining his fingers with Feliciano's smaller ones, Ludwig tried not to think about how cold they still were.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and the blonde jerked awake. He had fallen asleep? When had that happened? Ludwig jumped to attention and rushed to the door.

He opened it to see the familiar couple. "Hallo, Roderich, Elizaveta."

The tall dark haired man was composed as ever, and nodded curtly toward Ludwig. The woman at his arm smiled warmly. "Hello Ludwig, I heard it was very close tonight, you got Feliciano to the doctor just in time." Elizaveta was so sweet sometimes even Ludwig forgot how many men she had dispatched for the Italians. He gestured for them to enter. "Feliciano is sleeping, but should recover vell."

Roderich waved his hand to indicate the bloodstains still covering Ludwig's dark sweater, "You look terrible."

The blonde replied with an icy stare, deciding words were not necessary.

After of moment of Ludwig's cold glare, Elizaveta interjected, "Actually Ludwig, we wanted to tell Feliciano about something. Seeing as he is still recovering, maybe it is best we tell you anyway."

Ludwig led them across the room to a few plush chairs near enough to Feliciano's bed that he would be able to see if the petite bandaged chest stopped breathing. With one eye still on Feliciano, Ludwig inquired half way interested, "Vhat did you have to tell me?"

Elizaveta began, brushing her long chestnut hair over a shoulder. "Well, it's about your brother, Gilbert actually." Ludwig turned, giving her his full attention. "Vhat has he done?" If Gilbert had made a move on Elizaveta again, that would explain Roderich's slightly worse than usual demeanor.

Elizaveta continued, "We know and understand that he has an arrangement with Feliciano for amnesty among his patrons, but-"

Apparently Roderich had gotten impatient. The dark haired Austrian stood and speaking as angrily as he could without being rude and waking their sleeping boss, he berated the seated German as though his brother's transgressions were his fault. Ludwig was far too tired to deal with Roderich at the moment and only half listened until a sentence caught his attention.

The dark haired Austrian was fully into his rant, his wife rolling her eyes behind him.

"Amnesty for the Feds? I think that goes too far! Does Gilbert have no sense at all? He thinks only with his-"

He was cut off when two things happened at once. Ludwig stood, grabbing the Austrian by his immaculate coat, growling "Feds? Vhat are you talking about?" at the same moment that Feliciano's door burst open and in ran his older brother Romano.

"Fratello!" The slightly taller Italian ran past the German-Austrian altercation to his brother's side.

Ludwig released Roderich's collar and cautiously joined Feliciano's brother at the bedside. For a few minutes Ludwig watched Romano looking down at his younger brother wondering what the impulsive older sibling was thinking. For some reason Ludwig had never understood, Romano hadn't ever really liked him.

He didn't have long to wait, but he was surprised by the words. Romano turned to him and begrudgingly said, "Yeah, thank you for, uh, saving mio fratellino."

Ludwig wasn't sure what to say. "Oh, Ja, of course." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

Ludwig turned darkly toward the Austrian who had joined them at the bedside as Roderich said, "About the federal agent your brother is protecting…"

"Excuse me Romano," Ludwig was really too tired for this. He rubbed his eyes and prepared to defend his brother. "Gilbert vould not entertain federal agents in the Roost. It does not make sense Roderich."

The dark haired man stood tall refusing to back down to Ludwig. "It was Alfred Jones. I was about to deal with him myself when your brother told us to back off him!"

"Jones?" Ludwig's voice was low. It was unlikely that Roderich would mistake the agent who put him behind bars, but what would Jones be doing in the Roost, what would Gilbert be doing with him? His train of thought was extinguished as Romano laughed bitterly. It was a strange laugh for him; Romano usually laughed fully, obnoxiously really, it was similar to the way his own brother laughed. This time however, was different.

Romano laughed low as though it was bittersweet. "No, Rod, it was Mathew," He said the name mockingly, "Alfred's twin brother."

As Romano described what he'd seen at Gilbert's club his face darkened, but his wasn't the only one. Ludwig, because on top of everything that had happened he now added the fact that his brother had flirted with the brother of a federal agent. The twin brother of a federal agent. Roderich, because he never made mistakes, never.

"So, thatsa the whole story – Gilbert just-a threw himself all over that-a Canadian slut!" Romano finished angrily.

Elizaveta joined the men and chimed in happily, her voice so much sweeter than the words she spoke. "But this is great news! We can use the brother to get Jones!" Roderich turned to her, his face a picture of adoration as his ruthless Hungarian beauty continued. "Surely he will return to the Roost; we merely wait outside and," her eyes sparkled. "take him." She looped her arm through her husband's and leaned onto his shoulder. "We'll show Alfred Jones to take you from me, my love."

Ludwig was not sure how to feel about this. He preferred to keep his brother's business separate from his. Usually Gilbert's club's amnesty policy wasn't a problem, but that had always dealt with other organizations, never government men…or their families. It didn't feel right. Ludwig had just opened his mouth to say as much when Feliciano let out a small pained moan.

Ludwig pushed the couple toward the door. "Out, get out! He needs rest, Ja, Ja, I'll tell him about the brother- Ja, now go!" he pushed them out the door heedless of the offended glares.

When he turned back, it was to Romano's usual face and crossed arms. "Do you know whata mio fratellino justa said to me?"

Ludwig's heart clenched. "Nein," he spoke slowly, "Vhat did he say?"

Romano grabbed his arm and dragged him close to Feliciano who had squirmed a bit in his sleep; one bare leg now lay outside the blankets. Ludwig wanted to lift it up and tuck him back in, but was all too aware of Romano's eyes scrutinizing his every move. "Vhat? Tell me vhat he said." Ludwig was growing impatient with Romano's cross stare. What was he waiting for?

But the answer came as Feliciano turned toward the sound of Ludwig's voice, his eyes opening slightly but glazed as though he were just coming out of a dream.

"Ti amo, ti amo così tanto, mi hai salvato la vita. Tu sei tutto per me Ludwig, dimmi che non mi lascerai mai!"

Ludwig didn't need to understand all of what Feliciano said to understand enough. He knew Ti amo, and he knew his own name. He couldn't stop himself; he tried, but he had to reply – Feli was looking up at him with wide eyes waiting for an answer. Knowing that Romano must have a gun on him somewhere and painfully aware that for once he did not, Ludwig took the smaller hand in his own and spoke clearly, "Ti amo Feliciano."

The younger brother smiled and then lay back peacefully with a happy sigh "Ve~ Ludwig" and the older one reached into his jacket, as Ludwig knew he would, and pulled out his pistol.

"What have-a you done to my fratello?" but as Ludwig planned how he could disarm Feli's brother with a well aimed kick without doing any major harm, he lowered the weapon; the stunned German followed Romano's line of sight to Feliciano's peaceful face."If you ever hurt him, I willa kill you!" Romano finished and then turned and plopped down in the seat on the other side of the bed.

_End ch 5._

_TBC of course (;_

_**Kakoy vkusniy sosok**__- what a delicious nipple_

_**Bozhe moi**__**̆**__**, kak ya hochu tebya**__.": My God, how I want you_

_**kakoy ti vkusniy**__ – you are so deliscious_

_**moi krasnee muzhik**__ – my handsome man_

_**blinchiki **__– you like crepes? Who doesn't? You'll like blinchiki!_

_**Yeblia!**__ – fuck!_

_**smotryet na menya**__ – look at me_

_**mio fratellino**__ – my little brother_

_**Ti amo, ti amo così tanto, mi hai salvato la vita. Tu sei tutto per me Ludwig, **__**dimmi che non mi lascerai mai**__**!"=**__ I love you, love you so much, you saved my life. You are everything to me Ludwig, say that will never leave me!_

_As, before, I have utterly zero experience with Italian, Grazie Piyo13!_

_I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! As always I welcome and look forward to your reviews!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Hello everyone! Thank you for the reviews and all the new people who have faved or added to alerts as well as you who have stayed with my little mob story from ch.1! :D I hope you guys all enjoy this chapter as much as the others! This is a plot building chapter so its a bit longer than the last ones. There is some drug use, the 1920's was...roaring after all. If it bothers you now you've been warned. (: Obviously, I should say I'm not promoting drug use, etc, etc, so theres that. Now on to Chapter 6!_

It was just before dawn when the weary blonde turned the door knob and stepped into his home; Ludwig saw his brother was lounging on the sofa, clearly freshly home from work. It was with practiced skill that Ludwig kept his voice steady. "Guten morgen bruder."

However, it was the bloodstains on his navy blue sweater that gave him away. That and his uncharacteristically disheveled hair falling across his face. Gilbert's crimson eyes widened, taking in his brother's appearance. "Guten Morgen yourself. 'Rough night?"

The taller brother sighed, closing the door behind him. He ran his hands through his hair in a vain attempt at slicking it back. "Mein Gott, you have no idea. Actually we have to talk about something..."

Ludwig's voice trailed off. His brow furrowed, he sat down on the coffee table across from his brother on the sofa.

Gilbert didn't miss the unusual slump to his brother's shoulders or the uncommon informality of his choice of seating. He leaned forward, one eyebrow raised quixotically.

"Ja?"

Ludwig looked his brother straight in the eyes. "There vas a man in the club last night, ja? From Canada?"

It was Gilbert's turn to sigh now, and the silver haired man looked away as he replied. "Perhaps. There are lots of men in the club, bruder."

Ludwig knew his brother well and could easily read his reactions. He must already know of the Canadian man's relation to Agent Jones. "This one looks a lot like a certain BOI agent."

The older sibling looked back at his brother and shrugged. "Never met a BOI agent. Wouldn't know."

Was Gilbert _trying_ to infuriate him? Ludwig struggled to keep his composure. This night had been utterly horrible. Though he had worked with Feliciano in many dangerous situations before, it was as if a switch had flipped when he spoke aloud that he loved his petite Italian. Now his chest ached at the memory of the events of the night. All the blood; Feli's cold body against his chest. He should have been faster. He should have gotten to him in time to take the bullet himself, and he cursed himself for it.

Ludwig knew he wasn't handling the weight of the change in their relationship well. He now wanted to keep Feliciano safe all the time; knowing that was impossible and impractical was making him crazy. Now to add to his troubles, his brother had spent the night flirting with the brother of the enemy. It was too much.

"BRUDER! You do not know vhat I have been through tonight!" Ludwig rubbed at his bloodshot eyes furiously. "I am actually trying to help you."

Gilbert frowned and moved from the sofa to sit next to his brother on the coffee table. Perhaps now was not the time to tease his serious younger sibling. "West, vhat has happened? Perhaps you should sleep. We can discuss this later, ja?"

Ludwig glanced at his brother, red rimmed eyes clearly tempted by the thought of sleep. In fact, Gilbert noted his brother's eyes looked slightly crazed, and...watery?

The taller brother slumped even farther into his arms, folded on his knees. He hated to let anyone see him like this. "I...I..," Ludwig sighed before continuing. If he couldn't talk to his brother, then who? "Feliciano nearly died tonight, last night ...in my arms, so much blood, I...now its different...these damn Byelorussians...and Roderick. Feli...I...I should have been faster. It should have been me. Mein Gott. I don't know..." Ludwig trailed off burying his face in his arms. Why couldn't he pull himself together, this was ridiculous.

His head still buried in his arms, Ludwig felt his brother's hand on his shoulder. Gilbert was trying to cheer him up, he must really be a mess, he thought to himself as his older brother spoke. "Feliciano nearly died? Its okay West, its okay. Operative word being nearly right? Sleep, relax, tomorrow you will need all your faculties to take care of the people responsible."

That was true, that Lithuanian was first on the list. "Ja, I vill..." Ludwig straightened again and remembered himself. He had to talk to his brother about this Mathew Williams.

"But you are in this now too East...I know you don't vant to know the details of my vork..." Ludwig let his sentence trail off, and looking straight ahead he continued. "How attached are you to this Mathew Villiams?"

The silver haired older sibling fidgeted and flushed. Seeing pink color his brother's pale cheeks made Ludwig sit up straighter. This was more serious than he had thought. Could the agent's brother have made that much of an impression in one night?

Ludwig waited, his eyes slits of blue, for his brother's answer. When the answer came it was in a roundabout way. "Oh you know me West, love 'em and leave 'em right? But Gilbird wouldn't understand. Gilbird really likes him."

Ludwig wasn't stupid. He knew his older brother was using the little chick to say _he_ really liked the man. He was saying he intended to see him again. Gilbert was already more involved in Ludwig's professional life than he wanted.

He had to do something about it; he only hoped it was the right thing to do. Ludwig gripped his brother's shoulder and spoke seriously, locking his eyes on his brother's which widened as he spoke.

"Ich liebe dich bruder, or I would not tell you." Ludwig took a deep breathe, what he was doing was definitely not allowed. "I vill not stop it if it happens...I can't. But, if you have a vay of contacting this man, you should tell him not to come back to the roost."

The flush that had colored Gilbert's face disappeared and he was if anything, paler than before. He nodded slowly, realizing what his brother was telling him.

"Ja, say no more. Ich liebe dich auch Bruder."

Having warned Gilbert, Ludwig's thoughts returned to Feliciano. He just couldn't shake the image of seeing the red stain grow out against the pale blue shirt. The startled look on the Italian's face had been just as bad. Why hadn't he been faster? Sighing deeply again, Ludwig's face darkened and he spoke to himself. "I just don't know..."

He had forgotten his brother was right beside him. Gilbert's words grated on his nerves, though Ludwig knew he was trying to lighten his mood. "So he almost died...but it was in your arms?" He felt his brother nudge him with an elbow. "Ja, ja? You see west? A silver lining!"

Ludwig felt his face turning red as buried his head again in embarrassment. How had he been so obvious in his feelings for Feli before he himself even knew it? Gilbert had been nothing but annoying is his glee the morning Ludwig had returned from the now infamous dinner. Thinking of his brother, suddenly made Ludwig remember the other brother who now knew about him and Feliciano. Romano. They had hoped to keep their love a secret, now far too many people knew. How could he continue to be respected if it got out?

A despairing groan came from low in the German's throat, and his words were muffled by his arms still hiding his face. "Mein gott East! He told me he loved me in front of his bruder!"

He didn't have to look up to know that the arm that had left his shoulder was now dramatically clutching at his brother's heart. "Whoa! Bruder! You are better at this than I imagined!" Gilbert scooted even closer. Ludwig could hear the grin in his voice as he said, leaning down toward his ear, "Go on."

"Nein!" Straightening up once again, Ludwig focused his eyes on the ceiling. "Its all out…I have already had to threaten 3 people…luckily one has already died..." Ludwig laughed suddenly, thinking of the young soldier who had overheard a whispered phone conversation between him and Feliciano. "Mein gott I am losing it!" How was he supposed to keep up the charade, silence everyone who chanced upon them?

His erratic mood must have been evident because Gilbert's voice interrupted his thoughts. The older brother sounded decidedly taken aback by Ludwig's unusual loss of control. "Calm down Bruder!"

A moment passed, it seemed to Ludwig that Gilbert was taking the time to choose his words carefully, which only further irritated him. The taller blonde was about to tell his brother this when Gilbert suddenly continued. "You can still save the situation. How did Romano react?"

Ludwig thought back over the night. "Vell considering, I did not have to disarm him; he lowered the weapon on his own. He said he vill kill me if I hurt Feli-" Ludwig sighed and chuckled lightly at the thought of Romano trying to kill him. "Like I vould." But he talks...all the time...to everyone! And I cannot shoot him and dump him in the river..."

The tall blonde cocked his head to the side, brow furrowed, one finger to his chin. He wondered for a second, but no, no he could not get rid of Feliciano's brother that way. "Nein...I cannot."

It was all that damn Austrian's fault for being so loud and waking his little Italian.

"If only Roderick hadn't been in your club…and hadn't come in to argue vith me!"

"We would never have woken him..." Ludwig sighed again, his head in his hands.

Gilbert spoke up again beside him, "What are you worried about West? Your reputation? Romano was your only threat. No one would dare make a coup against both of the brothers. If Romano stays behind the two of you then the fear you inspire should ensure your respect. So what if they know, Ludwig? It is not a danger so long as they cannot touch you. "His older brother paused to let his words take effect, and then continued lightly, "und Roderick is a bitch" he gestured widely with both arms, "he ruins everything."

"Ja, you are probably right...though, its just not done...not accepted...But Ja, I vill crush anyone who tries to get in our vay!" and then chuckling darkly, more himself than he was before, he agreed, "Und Ja, he does!"

Ludwig rubbed his eyes again and was more and more aware of his aching body as he stood. "I vill rest, just try to be careful East. Agent Jones's brother is in danger. You do not need to be near him."

He hoped his brother would listen, but knew the older sibling always thought he knew best, even when he was so obviously wrong. Ludwig returned his brother's hug as the slightly shorter man squeezed him close.

Gilbert pulled back and wrinkling his nose, said, "Ja, ja, you big idiot. You smell terrible, and not the good kind of terrible like sex und old beer. Go to sleep und in the morning have a shower."

Ludwig spoke over his shoulder as he made his way toward the hall, "I am serious, bruder." But Ja, I think I vill take a shower first though..."

As soon as Gilbert heard the shower start up he pulled a folded napkin from his pocket and glancing down at it, dialed the number written in the neat handwriting of a man who spends more time with books than people.

Across town Matthew groaned and rolled over in his bed pulling his pillow over his ears and trying to block out the insistent ringing of the phone.

His head felt so tender and every ring of the phone was like a needle pricking his forehead. Who would be calling here at this obscene hour? The sun wasn't even up!

Suddenly his stomach clinched uncomfortably and not from his hangover. What if it was Alfred? What if he'd gotten in trouble in Russia and was calling for help? Why he'd be calling his brother and not say, his boss at the BOI, Matthew had no idea but he couldn't think of anyone else who would be calling at this time and it was probably a decent hour in Russia. He knew from experience that Alfred forgot about time differences.

In a second his aching body was out of bed and hurrying down the hall to the phone.

"Hello?" He panted. He held the receiver in one hand and clutched his throbbing head with the other. "Alfred?"

"Nein!" He could practically hear the German's pout. Matt stifled a groan. Gilbert was responsible for his hangover and now he had the nerve to wake him from blissful sleep. "It's Gilbert from The Roost, not that you could forget someone as awesome as me."

"Ugh, no, how could I forget the total hoser who gave me this splitting headache? How much Alcohol were you putting in those cocktails anyway?"

Gilbert chuckled. "I don't remember you complaining at the time, cutie. Listen, why don't you and I grab some coffee? It'll help with that sore head of yours."

Matthew's stalker alarm went off. Sure, he liked Gilbert but wasn't it a bit soon? Didn't the man sleep? "Um..."

Gilbert could hear the discomfort in the Canadian's voice and he decided to be direct. "I need to talk to you about something and it has to be in person. It's about what happened in the bar last night."

Matthew may have been a bit lightheaded but the memory of his run in with the dangerous couple was sobering. In any other situation he would be suspicious of Gilbert but Matthew knew that anyone who was on the wrong side of his brother was likely not someone to be trifled with. He thought he could trust Gilbert. If the German was working with anyone disreputable he could easily have taken advantage of Matthew last night. In fact, the blond was kicking himself for getting drunk at all. In retrospect he could only see it as foolish and dangerous. Still, the experience made him willing to put faith in Gilbert now.

"Alright. There is a bakery near my brother's apartment. How about we meet there in an hour?"

Gilbert agreed and Matthew gave him the address. Hopefully coffee and a croissant really would do him some good.

Back in he and Ludwig's apartment, Gilbert hung up the phone. He'd be back before his younger brother noticed. He grinned at the prospect of seeing Mathew again, regardless of the reason.

Ludwig dried his hair as he exited the shower, a towel wrapped across his waist. The steam and cleansing water had done much for his emotional self control. The tall muscular blonde looked his reflection in the eyes as he spoke to himself in the mirror.

"Get it together Ludwig. This is the time for action, not crying und vasting time." He scowled at his mirror-self.

However, he could not argue that he wouldn't be more useful and think more clearly after he'd had some rest. The brothers shared a common bathroom and so Ludwig was able to simply open the door to his bedroom where he crossed to the bed and lay on his back atop the comforter. Blessedly he was far too tired to ruminate further on his troubles and before he was aware of doing so, Ludwig had fallen deeply asleep.

Though he would have no memory of it when he awoke, an easy smile grew across his face as he slept, dreaming of sunshine, big open brown eyes and a place without worry.

Gilbert miraculously managed to arrive very nearly on time. The bakery wasn't hard to spot with its brilliant red awning and for the fact that it was one of very few establishments open so early in the morning.

He slid open the glass door, ignoring both the jingling bell and the clerk's cheerful greeting. His red eyes scanned the room. He found the man he was looking for slumped over at a table in the corner. He was clutching a steaming cup of coffee and had a half eaten croissant on a saucer.

Gilbert made his way over though his eyes were drawn to a delicious looking apple pastry in the display. _'Strudel' _He thought and felt his stomach start to nag him. Maybe he'd get a couple to take home. West could use a pick-me-up. However, Matthew was his priority right now.

"I knew you couldn't wait to see me again." He smirked as he slid into the seat across from Matt. The Canadian sighed._ 'Shouldn't that be my line?' _He thought but chose not to comment. "What's going on Gil?" He asked after taking another sip of his coffee.

"You shouldn't come back to The Roost." Gilbert replied checking his own urge to play with the blond a little longer.

"Oh." Matthew was actually a little disappointed. He'd had fun last night even if he was paying for it now. Was this just Gilbert's way of telling him he didn't want to see him again? Couldn't he have been courteous enough to let him get a decent sleep first?

"Not that I don't want to see you," Gilbert replied leaning in closer "but the couple from last night works with the Italian mafia and I've heard from a reliable source that they may be looking for you now that they know you are Jones's brother. So you need to steer clear of the roost and be on your guard."

Matthew really wished Alfred wasn't in Russia. If his brother had been here he could advise him on how to handle this situation. Was it worth going home over? He didn't know how to contact Alfred and he didn't want to just up and leave. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it sounded? He tried to stay in the dark about Alfred's work but he was regretting that now.

"How worried should I be?" He asked glancing up at the man across from him.

Gilbert grinned. "With me looking out for you? Not at all!"

Matthew wasn't very reassured and he was going to tell Gilbert so but all that came out was a yawn.

Gilbert laughed. "I get the message sleeping beauty. Let me pick up a few things and I'll walk you home."

"As long as we don't take the scenic route." Matt warned.

He finished off his croissant while Gilbert picked up a few Apfelstrudels.

The walk to the apartment was pleasant. Gilbert carried the pastries in one hand and rested the other on Matthew's back.

They spoke little mainly because Matthew was too tired from his late night. He wasn't used to staying up like Gilbert.

They stopped outside the apartment building.

"Not going to invite me up?" Gilbert joked.

Matthew flushed. "Please, I can barely stand up. How do you expect me to entertain?"

"You wouldn't have to for what I have in mind." The albino winked.

Matthew pulled away abruptly. "Ah! Where is your shame?" He hissed. "What if someone overheard?"

Gilbert shrugged and Matt shook his head. Was he brave or stupid? Probably both.

He liked Gilbert's audacity but he hadn't lost his senses completely. He knew it could cause him and his brother a lot of problems if any of Alfred's neighbors overheard that kind of talk.

"Why don't you call me again sometime?" Matthew suggested. He did want to see Gilbert again. It made him question his own sanity, but he did like him.

Gilbert smirked and suddenly wrapped an arm around Matthew's shoulders. Quickly checking that no one was around to see he pressed a kiss against the startled man's lips. "Sure thing." He whispered. "Enjoy your awesome dreams about me." before pulling away and heading down the street with a wave.

…

Hours later when the sun was at its peak and lighting up Feliciano's room from the balcony, the petite Mafioso was slowly pulling on a new clean dress shirt. The last one had been ruined as blood seeping from his bandages had stained the white cotton red. This new shirt was black silk. Hopefully any stains wouldn't show up.

He was alone in the penthouse with his brother Romano. His older sibling was continuing in his constant stream of complaints. "Why you did not take me with-a you, you could have been killed! If-a Ludwig had not-a gotten you back in time-a you would have been for sure! What, you think-a you are invincible?

Feliciano rolled his eyes and buttoned his shirt, trying to ignore both his brother's voice and the pain in his chest. Ludwig had called just a few minutes ago and should be there soon. Feliciano wanted to be looking healthy and strong for when he arrived.

Though his memory of the events after he was shot were foggy at best, he did recall Ludwig rushing to his side, carrying him to the car and the stricken look on his strong capo's face. Feliciano had never seen Ludwig's eyes so panicked. After that his mind was a blank until being carried into his apartment, Ludwig's large hand on his chest, and voices. One of them the one _still_ complaining to him.

Feliciano was talented at tuning out his brother; he had been doing it all his life. He was just looking over his choice of a white suit with his black shirt in the mirror when something in Romano's litany of grievances caught his attention.

"And you love that-a damn potato eater? Really fratello, you could-a not have picked an Italian? Grandpa is not-a gonna be happy. Is not enough he will-a get no great-a grandchildren?"

Feliciano turned toward his brother. "Veh~ Romano, remember you agreed not to say anything to anyone?" His stomach turned slightly. He couldn't believe he had spilled his heart out last night- wait… "no great grandchildren?"

Feliciano grabbed his older brother by the collar with his right arm. "You – you, have to have the children that will take over for me!" He knew his brother had had dalliances with men before, but he had always had women. Feliciano hadn't considered the fact that Romano would settle down with anyone other than a nice Italian woman.

Clearly Romano had always thought the same about him. "Don't-a look at me! Its you that is the boss; not-a my responsibility. At least I have-a the decency to keep-a it out of my work!"

Feliciano let go of his brother. "Veh~ but I love him Fratello." The shorter brunette stepped back and sat on the side of the bed facing his standing brother who was finally speechless, though still scowling.

"Ludwig is so helpful, strong, organized, and handsome, he's really a great guy trust me!" At his brother's continued scowl, Feliciano went on; a smile spreading across his face. "And he makes me laugh, I don't think he means to be sometimes, but he can be really funny, he's so tall, and its nice just to be with him, when we're working he always gets the answers we need, and then we go out for sweets. Veh~"

Feliciano trailed off, lost in his thoughts. What he loved most about Ludwig was that when they weren't working, it was as though they were not the Don and his Capo, but just Feliciano and Ludwig.

"Feliciano," He turned toward his brother, who wasn't scowling anymore. "Romano?"

Romano went on, "You never say such nice things about me…"

"Uh...Veh~ Romano…I did save you from that Byelorussian…" He couldn't help it that Romano was usually annoying him, boasting, getting himself in trouble…

His older brother's sour expression was back on his face. "Oh!" He turned and made his way to the door, throwing it wide. Romano yelled over his shoulder at his little brother now standing beside the bed. "I'll show-a you, you and that-a potato eating bastardo! I'll take-a care of that damn Jones and his-a Canadian hussy of a brother!"

The door slammed behind his older brother and Feliciano sighed.

"Veh~" Deciding it was a good thing that his brother was occupying himself with the agent; Feliciano went around to the foot of the bed and slipped his feet into his leather shoes. He bent to tie them but stopped halfway as a searing pain shot through his chest and back. He cried out involuntarily and straightened, taking several deep breathes until the pain subsided.

This wouldn't do. He didn't want Ludwig to be worried about him when he arrived. He had managed everything else; he could manage to tie his shoes. Determinedly Feliciano swung one leg up onto the bed. He reached again. "Aaaugh!" the pain again stabbing like a knife through his chest.

"Veh~" Feliciano clutched at his chest. Damn. He felt the sticky wetness seeping through his bandages. He looked down at the shirt; at least it was hiding the blood. Tears threatened as he breathed in deeply; the pain in his chest was lasting longer this time.

It was as he stood on one foot, the other propped up on the bed, hand to his chest, trying to fight the pain, that a familiar voice called from the main room. "Feli?"

Before he could reply the tall blonde opened the door.

Feliciano smiled up at Ludwig in the doorway. His German love always seemed so put together. The Italian swung his leg from the bed and attempted to look like it was the most natural thing to do in the world.

Clearly he didn't fool Ludwig, who was at his side immediately.

"Are you alright, Feliciano?" The taller man inclined his head to peer into the Italian's eyes. Those piercing blue eyes undid him every time, but he would not let on.

"Veh~ I'm fine Ludwig, just about to tie my shoes." Feliciano mentally told his body that he was the boss and it had better listen to him. He then slowly knelt and bent a third time toward his feet. "Aaugh!" damn, why didn't it listen? He crumpled sideways as the pain in his chest stabbed through him again.

Feliciano put out his hand to break the fall, but it wasn't onto the floor that he landed, but into Ludwig's arms. "You are hurting! Feli, vhy didn't you say so?" The blonde scolded. He felt himself scooped up into Ludwig's chest as the German stood and then gently set him down on the bed.

"Veh~ I didn't want you to see me this way Ludwig." The pain in his chest was greater than before and he didn't think he could hold back his tears. Damnit, he was Don Vargas, what were his tears thinking disobeying him? Hot mutinous drops clung to his lashes and rolled down his cheeks.

Ludwig looked at him incredulously. "I-I am-" His brow was furrowed, and he brushed away Feliciano's tears with one hand. "I am happy just to see you alive." Feliciano noticed Ludwig's color rise in his face and neck. His love was so nervous to express how he felt, but didn't waver at the darkest job. It was one of his favorite things about his strong, no nonsense man. With Ludwig's hand still cupping his face, Feliciano reached up to pull the German's chin down to his own. Ludwig could be as shy as he wanted to with his love, Feliciano would express enough for both of them.

The pain in his chest receded as their lips met and when Ludwig pulled him closer deepening the kiss, the fact that a bullet had sliced through a major artery just the day before was the last thing on Feliciano's mind.

Ludwig pulled away after several minutes. His hand went to Feliciano's chest, and his palm came back red with blood. "You are bleeding again, Feliciano!" Though he protested, the Italian knew his protests were weak as Ludwig unbuttoned his shirt and inspected the bandage. "Ve'll have to change this."

It was all business as Ludwig removed Feliciano's suit jacket, shirt, and bandages. He determinedly did not look down at his wound as Ludwig returned from the dresser with fresh wrappings. The pained look in his blue eyes was more than enough to tell Feliciano he didn't want to look.

As he rewrapped the petite chest, Ludwig spoke. "I saw Romano on the vay up. He did not look happy."

Feliciano looked down now that a layer of gauze covered his wound. "Just a problem of succession… it'll work out. He'll be working on handling our federal problem so we can focus on that Byelorussian." Ludwig added from behind as he tied off the bandages, "und that Toris who shot you. I vill deal vith him." Ludwig's dark expression softened as he helped Feliciano put his shirt back on.

As he buttoned his shirt back up Feliciano looked up suddenly. "A spy!" He looked to Ludwig, "We need a spy, someone who isn't connected with us who can hang around the Gold Star and feed us information!" It was a brilliant idea, and Feliciano was happy to see the blonde now seated on the bed in front of him nodding in agreement. "Ja, good idea!" Ludwig lifted Feliciano's leg over his lap and began tying his shoelaces. "Und I think I know who we could use."

An hour later the two men walked along a shadowed alley; Ludwig a step ahead of his smaller companion. They stopped outside a purple painted door. There were no windows.

"Ready, Feli?" The blonde asked looking down at his love as he pulled the gun from inside his jacket; just to be on the safe side. The brunette nodded up to him, and Ludwig rapped three times on the door.

A voice answered from behind it as one of the panels slid to reveal a pair of eyes. "What's your business?" the man behind the door spoke gruffly.

Feliciano stepped up on his toes to meet the eyes of the doorman. "We have an offer for Mr. Kirkland."

"Don Vargas. Aren't you a little far from your territory?" The doorman's smirk was evident in his voice. Feliciano smiled as Ludwig put his gun level with the panel opening.

"I think you vill be letting us in now, Ja?"

The man gulped and the door opened. Ludwig slipped his hand behind Feliciano's back as the two entered together. The man gestured down a candle lit hall that descended underground.

The Italian walked in front of the taller German now as they passed plush furnished dimly lit rooms to either side. The patrons in each lounging across fainting sofas, canopy beds, and pillowed floors beneath clouds of smoke.

They turned a corner and passed a large underground dance hall where men and women danced with wild energy and abandon. Their eyes shone with unnatural brightness.

As they walked alone through the corridor, Ludwig kept his hand protectively at the small of Feliciano's back. At last they came to a door at the end of the hall. Ludwig opened it slowly, his gun at the ready, just in case. Feliciano entered ahead of him, his head held high and footsteps sure.

A blonde man taller than Feliciano, but shorter than Ludwig had his back turned to them. The man was dressed outlandishly and somewhat out of date, yet still quite stylish. He wore dress slacks of blue violet velvet, and a white and purple striped shirt, over which was a silk lined vest, unbuttoned. He was standing at a wall of shelves. To one side, cases of vials and hypodermic syringes; to the other bags of leaves and white powder. He worked at a table in front of the shelves, rolling cigarettes of an unknown herb.

He spared no more than half a glance over his shoulder toward the advancing men. "Don't know how to knock I see. Right, Gents, I'll be with you in a just a moment;" He indicated the love seat against one wall, "If you'll kindly take your seat." He spoke with a clear British accent.

Feliciano looked to Ludwig and then sat down in the center of the loveseat. Ludwig kept his gun in hand and stood behind Feliciano. He was beginning to doubt this man would pose any threat, but an imposing first impression went a long way in their business.

When the man finally turned around, for only a second a perplexed expression crossed his face before he realized who was sitting in his office.

"Bloody Hell. Don Vargas." He Blanched. "I haven't been in your side of town." The British expatriate's eyes moved from Feliciano's face to Ludwig's and back. "What do you want?"

"I want to make you an offer, Arthur. One that I'm sure will be profitable for us both." The Italian replied smoothly from the loveseat.

Arthur sat down across from him. "Right, I'm listening." He folded his arms and raised bushy eyebrows in skeptical interest.

Feliciano turned in his seat, "Why don't you tell him Ludwig, it was you're idea afterall." The Italian smiled warmly at his capo and scooted over to give him room on the loveseat.

Ludwig blushed slightly, and instantly regretted it as the Brit's eyebrows went higher on his forehead. He settled next to Feliciano, his gun still in hand and resting on his knee.

"You recall the last time ve met, Ja?" The German asked, his blue eyes cold.

"Oh, you mean when you ran me out of Little Italy, costing me product and clientele? Yes, I really appreciated the package I got the next day." His green eyes narrowed.

Feliciano spoke up from beside Ludwig. "Now, you know this is the business we are both in. I know you, like we, are new here to this country, but surely you are not so ignorant to think you can sell in my town without paying." Arthur opened his mouth to retort but Ludwig cut him off. "Your man vas lucky he only lost his hands not his head, ve can't be held responsible for vhat he did later. It was an overdose of morphine was it not, in the end?"

Arthur glowered and clenched his jaw. "Did you have something you wanted to offer me or not, you Kraut git?

Ludwig tightened his grip on his pistol and grinned slightly in satisfaction at the look on the Brit's face as his green eyes flitted over the weapon. "Vatch yourself Kirkland. Ve come offering you a proposition you vould be crazy to turn down."

"Oh? And that is?" The Englishman's sarcasm was grating on his nerves.

Feliciano must have picked up on Ludwig's slight twitch of his jaw; he spoke up. "How would you like my blessing to sell in Little Italy and everywhere the family controls?"

Feliciano and Ludwig shared a small grin at the look on the dealer's face. Bushy brows rose impossibly high as his emerald eyes widened and then squinted, his brows dropping equally as low. He leaned back in the seat, throwing his arm over the back.

The two mobsters returned the drug dealer's appraising stare.

Finally Arthur leaned forward. "Nothing is free with you chaps. What do want in return?"

Feliciano grinned widely and leaned back happily against the plush material of the loveseat as Ludwig filled Arthur in.

"Simple. You frequent the Gold Star." He added at the instant flush on the Brit's pale face. "Don't deny it, Ve know you do. All ve ask is that you supply information to us. Get close to the sisters in charge. Tell us vhen they plan something, go somevhere, their every meeting. Especially vith a Lithuanian man named Toris."

"Easy peasy boys. 'That all?" Arthur's eyes had already began to light up at the prospect of the many new customers to which he would soon have access.

"Don't sell to children." Feliciano interjected beside the broad shouldered German.

"What, am I, a monster?" The Brit's eyes went wide with feigned innocence.

"Also, Tell us immediately if a government agent by the name of Alfred Jones comes in, or is mentioned. He is blonde, vears glasses, is a little taller than you and incredibly arrogant." Ludwig continued.

Arthur stood and shook hands with both men. "Right. We have a deal gents." Neither noticed the imperceptible flash of recognition at the name, and Arthur turned away quickly toward the table until he cleared his face from any tells and turned back holding one of the cigarettes and dragging a match along the tabletop behind him. He lit the joint and held it out to the mafia boss first. "Celebrate our little arrangement? It's the newest thing from South America. Marijuana."

"No thank you." Feliciano waved away the offered smoke and Ludwig did the same.

"Your loss boys." He said as he took a puff and watched the two leave; noticing the German's hand brushing the Italian's and the blush that spread across both faces as they excited through the door. This was the third little touch or movement that gave them away. Arthur smiled to himself as he took a second drag. That was his ticket to job security; if they decided to back out of their end, he now had blackmail.

He took another drag and got back to work. _Delicious delicious blackmail_. He only hoped his former friend didn't show up. He'd lost touch with Alfred after the war, but whatever he'd done to piss off the mob must have been bad. His sympathy dissipated however as he remembered how their friendship had ended when Arthur lost his medical license. Some friend…so they were both in Chicago now and he was a government agent.

As Arthur mulled over his ethical dilemma deep in the underground of Chicago, Alfred was sitting with Ivan at his kitchen table in Moscow, the blizzard had settled and deep drifts of snow lay like a blanket on the city. The violet eyes of the Russian sparkled as he handed the American a fruit filled dumpling. "Since you did not like the savory cabbage varenyky, maybe you would prefer cherry?"

Alfred didn't hide his delight. He loved cherries. As he took a bite of the sweet and tart fruit dumpling, an involuntary sound of appreciation came from deep in his throat.

"Da, slodkee for moi lyoubov." Ivan ran a hand through the other man's golden hair.

The mixture of Russian and English didn't go unnoticed by Alfred whose face heated at the memory of the night before as well as the feel of the Russian's hand. How had this happened to him? Not that he hadn't enjoyed himself, but how would he justify his trip here to his boss?

"Ivan," he began, setting down the dumpling, "Have you given more thought to what you think about Natalya's dealings in Chicago?" Alfred's heart raced as Ivan brought his stool over next to Alfred's and sat down beside him.

"Da. But I don't want to talk about that just now moi Amerikanski" The Russian continued to smile lightly and lifted another cherry varenyky to Alfred's lips.

He pushed it away, blue eyes fierce. "Hey, watch the possessive stuff – how would you like it if I called you my Russki?

Ivan lit up and pulled Alfred close, "I would very much like that!" He kissed the top of the American's head, "even with your incorrect pronunciation, moi Amerikanski."

Alfred grumbled into Ivan's chest, but at the sight of those lavender eyes that he had so remembered over the years, he softened.

Ivan tilted Alfred's face to meet his own and soft lips brushed together.

_Goddamnit_, Alfred thought to himself as he returned the Russian's kiss. He'd get Ivan to talk to him before he left tomorrow.

Ivan was thinking along the same lines. He would have to decide what to do about Natalya soon, Alfred's exit visa was for tomorrow only. He kissed the infuriating but intoxicating blonde harder at the thought of him leaving.

Maybe Ivan could find a way to visit his sisters in Chicago….

_End Ch 6!_

_I eagerly await your reviews :D_

_I dont think I introduced many new phrases in this one. if I missed one and you're curious about it message me!_

_Guten Morgen - Good Morning_

_Varenyky- a dumpling that can be filled with all kinds of stuff from cabbage, beef, and pork to cherries, quark, and various fruits! its goood._

_Slodkee for moi lyoubov - sweet for my lover_


	7. Chapter 7

_Authors note: OK, so it's been a long time coming, and wow, did this chapter take a while! I have been super extra crazy busy with class, work, and etc etc! A lot happens in this chapter, so you get to see into the lives of nearly all the characters, of course Ludi and Feli get the most time, second comes Ivan and Alfred.. but I will give no more away! Enjoy! I hope you like it as much as I did writing it. I must say…this is the proudest I have felt about my romance skills…._

As Feliciano and his capo were leaving the Englishman's underground opium den, the don's older brother was meeting with friends of the family.

The melodies of Bach saturated the spacious estate as Roderich played. Across the room from the piano, Romano sat with the green eyed Elizaveta as she offered him a glass of wine. "How is your brother, Romano?"

"He is-a doing much-a better now." The Italian replied taking a long drink of the burgundy liquid. He continued, "Feliciano has his hands-a full with-a that-a Belarussian," He sat up straighter and his face darkened. "I'm-a taking over the federal situation."

Elizaveta leaned in, her eyes alight. "So Roderich and I should begin keeping an eye on the Roost?"

"Not only there…I want-a you to keep-a an eye on Gilbert as-a well. Trail him wherever he goes; I think he will-a lead us to the agent's brother" At the dangerous gleam in the Hungarian's eyes, Romano decided he really never wanted to wrong her Austrian husband and earn her wrath. He continued, "Don't-a let him see you; If-a you can grab-a the Canadian do, but I don't-a want Gilbert to-a know who took him."

"Of course." Elizaveta sat back in her seat.

"Oh," Romano started as he stood, "And lets-a keep this-a between us."

The Hungarian's eyes widened. Romano keeping something from Feliciano? Was that wise...it must have to do with Ludwig, she reasoned. The German was the don's most loyal capo, but Gilbert was his brother; it would not be unreasonable to imagine that he would warn him.

Romano downed the rest of the wine and made for the door. "I'll be in touch-a with you soon"

Later that evening, the young Canadian professor had decided not to leave his brother's apartment all day. He'd ordered delivery for dinner and sat working on the paperwork for his upcoming classes.

The setting sun shown through the window warming his brother's livingroom deceitfully as the December wind howled against the glass outside. Mathew's hangover had mostly worn off after a nice long sleep following that unexpected breakfast.

The Canadian was glad he had told Gilbert to call him sometime. The strangely bold crimson eyed man definitely intrigued him. All the same, Mathew was glad to be staying in today considering the warning the German had given him.

Settling on Alfred's sofa, Mathew retrieved the new textbook he would be assigning for his spring world history class. He always preferred to become intimately familiar with any texts he required his students to buy. He flipped through the pages at random first, just getting a feel for the book.

Suddenly a sentence stood out to him, black ink on new bright paper. _Imperial Russia under Ivan Vasilyevich, the Terrible. _

The young professor chewed at his bottom lip subconsciously. All the worries he'd had for himself were replaced with worry for his brother. Alfred should be arriving in the very late or very early hours of the next day. All he knew was that the BOI would contact him with Alfred's flight information so he could pick him up at the Airport. Mathew knew his brother had no way to contact him, but he couldn't shake the thought that his impulsive twin had gotten himself into trouble.

Mathew settled deeper into the sofa and the plush bear to which he still held an attachment. He knew he wouldn't get any sleep tonight or the next, waiting for his brother to return.

Still looking at the page on Ivan the Terrible without reading it, Mathew was interested to hear about the Ivan his brother had so optimistically gone to see. As much as he looked forward to seeing Alfred, he did wonder how he was going to bring up Gilbert and the trouble he'd gotten in. Oh well, the Canadian sighed as he continued to flip through the pages away from the infamous Tsar. _I'll just have to tell him…maybe if I bring it up over food, _Mathew thought to himself_._ For now, he decided he would just hope Alfred hadn't gotten himself in much trouble in Russia.

As the sun set fully, the pale haired Gilbert busied himself pouring drinks for the many patrons that packed the Roost. The new singer, a charismatic French crooner had brought people in by the droves. Gilbert sent a third glass of wine up to the stage with a more than willing waitress.

A few days before he would've shown Francis his gratitude for filling the house in a much different way…but that was before he had met Mathew. Now, as he looked up at the stage from behind the bar and noticed the shoulder length waves of blonde hair and blue eyes gleaming in the spotlight all he could think of was another blonde, quiet, intelligent, and just a touch naive.

Gilbird chirped softly on the German's shoulder as he dried shot glasses, setting them up behind the bar. Gilbert tilted his head to brush his cheek along the little chick's feathers. "You wish he was here too, Ja?"

The bright yellow door opened with a chime and Gilbert turned automatically toward it. He knew it wouldn't be the man who had been occupying his thoughts, but his heart fell all the same as he saw the brunette making his way toward the bar, people on either side parting for the don's brother to pass.

Romano sat at the bar and smiled. Gilbert rolled his eyes. The Italian was always trouble; usually starting with flirtations to everyone around and then ending in a fight with whoever was unlucky or dumb enough to disrespect him in some way.

"The usual?" the albino asked from behind the bar as Gilbird flew from his shoulder to settle on top of his pale hair.

The Italian nodded, and Gilbert placed a bloody maria in front of him. Romano swirled the stalk of celery in the mixture of tomato juice and tequila. "How you-a doing, tonight bellissimo?" He asked, dark brown eyes flickering up at the man behind the bar.

"Good enough." Gilbert responded turning back to the dirty glasses in the sink.

"Just-a good enough?" The brunette leaned an elbow on the counter. "How about you take-a off a little early," Gilbert turned his crimson eyes to Romano as the latter took a long sip of his drink and continued. "I could-a make-a your night better."

The pale German was usually a shameless flirt, but he'd never cared for Romano, and in fact only tolerated his presence because his own younger brother worked for Romano's. Sure, the Italian was attractive enough, but he was unpredictable and sulky when things didn't go the way he wanted. Not to mention that though Ludwig was part of the 'family', Gilbert was content to keep his distance from the mafia. Sure, he ran a speak-easy, but the Roost had been a legitimate club before prohibition.

The trouble was how to let Romano down without angering him.

Gilbert flashed his most awesome grin at the Italian. "Ja, I'm sure you know how to show a boy a good time, but I've really got a lot to do." He attempted to sweeten the rejection by topping off Romano's drink and plopping a new stalk of celery in the red liquid.

And…there it was. The color built up in the Italian's face and his easy smile turned downward. "Oh? Busy are you? You weren't-a too busy last-a night!"

Gilbert's crimson eyes narrowed. _Romano_. He was the reason Mathew was now in danger. When Rod and Lizzie had left the night before they had both still been under the impression that Mathew was actually his brother Alfred.

Though he felt the anger building as he remembered that Romano had after all come in that night before Mathew, Gilbert knew his own brother needed to keep Feliciano's brother on his side. He would have to choose his words wisely. This was a new problem for him, usually he could just say what he wanted, when he wanted, to whomever he wanted.

Gilbert leaned closer across the bar, picking his words carefully. "I mean you no disrespect," _you're just not my type, Du Hurensohn, _he thought, but instead, still grinning widely, he winked at the Italian and continued, "but I really am very busy tonight."

Disgusted with himself Gilbert turned his back on the slightly mollified Romano and busied himself with stocking the hidden liquor compartment. Ludwig had better damn well appreciate this. When he turned back to the front Gilbert saw that the temperamental Italian had left; a folded hundred stuck out of the top of the empty glass.

The next day as Gilbert slept and Romano sulked and plotted against the agent and his brother, his own brother Feliciano was just exiting his confessional.

The baby faced Italian turned toward the other door in the enclosed booth, "vi ringrazia padre." He sang happily and then hummed to himself as he strolled toward the cathedral doors, his heart lighter.

The priest inside swept his hand across his brow and leaned back against the cool wood of the confessional walls. Retirement on the outskirts of Rome was beginning to sound extremely tempting to the old man. He didn't think his ageing heart could take anymore of the Vargas's secrets. Especially not if the young don continued to give in to his newest confession.

Leaning against one of the pillars on the steps of the cathedral, Ludwig waited for Feliciano. Churches made him uncomfortable. Having been raised Lutheran the German capo preferred to not think too deeply on whether or not there was an afterlife awaiting him. He folded his arms against his chest across his double breasted coat and tried to put religion out of his mind.

Hearing the large doors behind him open, the tall blonde turned around the pillar to see his petite love walking toward him, tucking his rosary beneath his shirt. Ludwig's blue eyes locked on to Feliciano's large brown ones as the Italian smiled easily up at him.

The two men left the cathedral steps as Feliciano hummed happily. Ludwig looked down at the content brunette. "You are always so light hearted after confession Feli." The blonde observed letting his own serious face break into a small smile.

Feliciano shrugged. "Veh~ It feels good to be forgiven Ludwig," The German glanced down at the Italian while they walked to his audi, as the smaller man continued, "even if I have to do more pennance now." Feliciano winked at Ludwig as they got inside the car.

As the blonde started the engine, he turned to his boss and love in the passenger seat. "Exactly how much do you confess Feli?" He asked, feeling his face color in embarrasment.

Ludwig's heart jumped as the petite Italian took advantage of their privacy to place a hand on the german's knee. "Veh~ don't worry Ludwig, I pray for you too." Feliciano leaned into the taller man's shoulder.

The blonde shook his head. He would never understand catholics. Ludwig stretched his right arm across the seat to encircle Felciano's small shoulders as they drove.

It felt freeing to know no one else was around to see them, no phone to ring and interupt them.

It was a peaceful drive and over all too soon. Ludwig made himself focus on business and not the gorgeous Italian in front of him as the two men made their way down the hallway in the basement of the stadium.

Feliciano was checking in to make sure the champion prizefighter due to defend his title that night hadn't come down with a conscience. Ludwig followed close behind him as the Mafioso entered the man's dressing room.

The tall Capo loved to see Feliciano work. Ludwig was usually employed to do the dirty work, but Feliciano hadn't risen to his position at such a young age for nothing. The petite Italian spoke softly to the burley man seated at his dressing table. Though the boxer was more than twice the Italian's width and at least as tall as Ludwig, the large man quelled as the baby-faced mafioso reminded him just how tragic it would be if something were to happen to his loved ones.

Half an hour later, confident that the boxer would take the dive as planned, Ludwig and Feliciano were once again in the car; this time on the way to the Italian's favorite restaurant. As Feliciano prattled on happily about whether he felt like manicotti or spaghetti for lunch, his German love focused on the road and smiling inwardly, thought to himself, _Feli gets far more excited about pasta than is healthy..._

"Manicotti!" Feliciano cheerfully decided as they parked in the lot behind the restaurant.

"Good choice Feli." Ludwig smiled though he would have said the same for spaghetti. The blue eyed man turned toward his love in the passenger seat. The German was still not fully at ease expressing his emotions. It was as their eyes met, that blushing furiously, he leaned down toward his boss, who sat up to reach his capo's lips with his own. Blue eyes flashed open as he noticed something outside the passenger window over Feliciano's shoulder. Ludwig stopped abruptly.

"Veh~?" Feliciano pouted.

The blonde grasped his love's shoulders and turned him in the seat. "Look, zhere-" He indicated three men standing on the corner. The three conversed together, one leaning casually against the bricks behind him. Ludwig could tell immediatly two were Belarussian, he recognized their faces from the last encounter with the knife wielding maniac Natalya.

Feliciano's face darkened. He reached for the weapon hidden beneath his jacket. "Let's extend them a welcome to _our_ little Italy, Ludwig." His baby face suddenly serious.

In the next moment many things happened at once. Feliciano and Ludwig exited the car, pulling their guns out as they did so; the three eastern european men turned and did the same.

One of the Belarussians shot first. Ludwig pushed Feliciano out of the way, taking the shot in the arm. The Italian's wide brown eyes narrowed at the blood quickly soaking through his German's sleeve. Ludwig seemed not to have noticed that he had just been shot and took aim again. The Belarussian's friend went down in a heap. The one who had shot Ludwig turned to see his compatriate lying on the ground, blood pooling around the body. He snapped his attention back to the Ludwig.

"gheta b'you moi stry'yechnee brat! Ya zabyou chyabie!"

Ludwig had no idea what the man said, but registered that he was shaking with anger and aiming for him once again. The German took aim as well, and was shocked when the Belarussian staggered and fell without his having fired a shot. He turned toward where Feliciano had fallen when he pushed him out of the way earlier. He wasn't there. Looking back up, Ludwig saw the petite Italian standing near the hood of the car, his pistol still smoking in his outstretched arms. The two men smiled to eachother, the boss winked at his capo and giggled lightly when the strapping German blushed.

The moment was over in a blink however, as the remaining man, the Lithuanian, took a look to the two bodies in the parking lot and ran for it.

Ludwig and Feliciano quickly returned to the car and were caught up with the man on foot in seconds. Feliciano slipped between the seats to the back and as Ludwig kept level with the tiring man, the Mafioso opened the backseat door and pulled him in by the collar of his coat.

The exhausted Lithuanian soldier was as short as Feliciano, and the Italian was able to quickly tie his wrists and gag him. Ludwig pulled over in an alley and opened the trunk as Feliciano dragged the other man to his feet. The Lithuanian's hazel eyes were wide and pleading silently with his captors. Unfortunately for him, he would find no sympathy with the German who lifted him off his feet and dropped him into the trunk.

"You vill tell me vhere to find your boss, this Toris Laurinaitis." The man's eyes hardened and he jutted out his jaw defiantly.

"Oh you vill." Ludwig assured him, the petite Don at his side looked on silently.

"Veh~ but not until after lunch. I'm starving!" Feliciano looked up at the blonde, who slammed the trunk closed and let his face relax as he looked down at the Italian. "Ja, I am hungry as vell, Feli; but ve must first retrieve the Belarussians from the parking lot, ja?"

The Lithuanian lay in the dark for 2 hours with the bodies of his allies as the rival mobsters ate and drove again to an unknown location.

The next thing the Lithuanian would see was the bright sun peaking around the shoulders of the hated German as he was lifted from the trunk and shoved into the hands of two Italian men.

"Take him to a room und secure him zhere. I vant two guards on him at all times."

The blonde held a take out box of leftovers in one arm and with the other he gestured to the bodies in the trunk. He spoke to another pair of dark haired young men. "See that this is taken care of." He handed one of the men his keys. "Be sure to have my car cleaned aftervards, Santino." Santino nodded to his boss, and Ludwig spoke to the four men at once as he made for the door to the building.

"the Don is already upstairs. I vill take this to him, and then ve must plan our next step. Do not bother us unless it is an emergency. I vill interogate _this_," he waved a hand back at the struggling Lithuanian, "Vhen I have time."

The German's adrenaline was beginning to wane and as he took the elevator up to the boss's penthouse his arm was starting to pain him.

He was looking forward to treating his wound and then having a chance to relax with Feliciano before interrogating the Lithuanian. Although, as the two men had been kept busy all week, they had not been able to do more than kiss and embrace quickly in stolen moments, and Ludwig wasn't sure how far Feliciano wanted to take things if they were given much time alone. The petite Italian was still technically his boss, even if they had become...lovers. The thought alone turned Ludwig's face beet red.

He decided to definitely leave things up to Feliciano to initiate, as he exited the elevator and entered the penthouse.

As soon as Feliciano noticed Ludwig setting the take out box on the coffee table, the Italian was at his side.

"Veh~ Ludwig! Your arm – let me take care of it!"

"Nein, it is nothing. Only a fleshvound." The German shook his head, determined to deal with it himself.

The smaller man's hands were on his hips and he looked up at Ludwig with piercingly bright eyes. _Were those the eyes the public saw? _Ludwig wondered as he acquiesced to Feliciano.

The German dropped his coat next to the take out box and allowed the Italian to lead him by the hand toward the kitchen area

The two men sat at the table; Feliciano had brought a bowl of water, towel, gauze, and a pair or tweezers. He scooted his chair as close as possible to Ludwig's as the larger man removed his shirt.

Ludwig was pained to see the troubled look on Feliciano's face as he cleaned the wound, the water in the bowl quickly turning crimson. His heart rate increased when the Italian turned wide brown eyes up at him. "Veh~ Ludwig, you were too proud – the bullet is deeper than you let on!" Feliciano took the muscular bicep in one hand, the tweezers in the other.

He had only begun to reach for the bullet when he stopped and looked up again; his small hand on Ludwig's chest. "You must calm your heart amore."

The German breathed deep and stared at the wall across from the kitchen. He would simply have to avoid looking at Feliciano to keep his heart at a normal pace. As the brunette fished for the bullet in Ludwig's arm the blonde turned his head to keep the other man from seeing him wince. The German tried to focus on their next move against Ms. Arlovskaya instead.

Ludwig was lost in his plans as Feliciano retrieved the bullet. He didn't even hear the clink of the metal ammunition being dropped into the bowl. He wasn't aware of the smaller man's hands wrapping his arm in gauze and tying it off. He was only brought out of his thoughts as the Italian brushed his lips softly to the bandaged wound. Ludwig turned and saw Feliciano's caramel eyes gazing up into his.

"Veh~ amore…you saved me again. Grazie." The small brunette sighed as he left his seat and climbed into the blonde's lap.

Ludwig's heart beat furiously again and he didn't care. He knew he flushed red again and didn't care about that either. He held the smaller man close. "Vhat else vould I do, Feli?"

Feliciano was kissing his bare chest lightly. The capo tried to hold back and let his boss take charge, he didn't want to do anything the smaller man wouldn't want him too. But when the kisses moved from his chest to his neck, Ludwig couldn't hold back any more.

With an involuntary moan of pleasure at the feeling of light lips along his jawline, the German lifted his Italian love easily. Feliciano wrapped his legs around Ludwig's waist as the strong blonde carried him back to the living room.

The two men settled onto the plush red carpet just as they had days ago when they had each confessed their love. Ludwig unbuttoned Feliciano's sky blue shirt as the petite Mafioso continued kissing his capo's neck and running his soft hands across the larger man's muscular back.

At the sight of the bandages covering the small chest, Ludwig stopped, momentarily cooled at the reminder of how close Feliciano had come to death.

"Veh? Keep going, Ludwig…" The Italian spoke as he nuzzled into the bigger man's shoulder. That was all the German needed. He removed the shirt entirely and tossed it across the room.

Ludwig lifted Feliciano up and gently sat him on the sofa. On his knees, the taller man was at the right height to lay his lips on the other man's chest this time. He kissed the bandaged torso as gently as he could. Ludwig's large hands held Feliciano's thighs to the cushions, he had worried that maybe he was holding his smaller love too forcefully, but then when the Italian ran his hands through Ludwig's blonde hair and sighed contentedly those worries fled his mind.

The Capo's heart quickened and small beads of sweat collected along his hairline at the feel of Feliciano's hands in his hair and the sound of his small voice as the Italian sighed.

"Veh~"

The blood rushed through Ludwig's veins; his pants were suddenly far too tight. He pulled his lips away from Feliciano's chest when the Italian still holding his hair tugged on it slightly to tilt the German's face up to his own.

The smaller man's caramel eyes were heavily lidded; he leaned down toward Ludwig and in a heartbeat he locked his lips onto the flushed blonde's already parted mouth.

As they kissed, Ludwig lifted Feliciano once more and joined him on the sofa. Without breaking for air the taller man loomed over his smaller love below him. The Italian certainly was forward, and twisted a leg around the German's bringing their hips into contact.

Ludwig sighed into Feliciano's mouth, knowing the smaller man felt the same as he.

Suddenly breaking the kiss, the brunette reached up again into Ludwig's blonde hair, now disheveled from it's usually tidiness. Feliciano smiled, giggling lightly at the look of longing in his love's bright blue eyes.

"Veh~," He sighed. "My bed is far more comfortable than this sofa, amore mio."

Feliciano slid from the cushions as Ludwig sat up, breathlessly agreeing. "Ja."

The Italian was just as hot as he; Ludwig could see that Feliciano's golden skin was tinged in a fevered glow just as his was, and strands of the brunette's mahogany hair stuck to his neck. Feliciano stood and Ludwig followed.

The smaller man extended a hand to his capo who took it readily, still at a loss for words.

They had taken but a few steps toward the bedroom door when Ludwig felt the smaller hand in his tighten its hold. "Feli?" he asked worried, as the other man stopped.

"Veh~ it's nothing." Feliciano responded. Ludwig noticed his love's other hand had gone to his chest.

Dropping the Italian's hand, the German rushed to face Feliciano, whose eyes were dazed. The smaller man swayed on his feet. "Only a headrush..Veh~"

Ludwig looked to the hand on the Italian's wrapped chest. He pulled it away. Seeing little red splotches seeping through the gauze, Ludwig quickly encircled his love's back and carried him to the bed.

"It is you who must calm your heart, mein liebe." The tall blonde smoothed the Italian's hair from his face. "If ve must vait for you to heal, I vill vait."

Feliciano turned his wide eyes to Ludwig and held the large hand to the side of his face. "Veh~ I don't want to wait, I will be fine." He pulled on Ludwig's arm pulling him down toward the bed.

It took all he had to refuse. "Nein, Feli. I don't vant to hurt you." Ludwig climbed into bed next to the petite Italian and held him close. "Ve vill vait."

As the mob boss sighed into his capo's strong arms, the sun moved across the sky as midday turned to late afternoon and the British dealer strolled up to the entrance of the Gold Star.

Checking his reflection in the window of the shop next door to the hotel, Arthur Kirkland was pleased by what he saw. He was determined, and would make the most of his little job for the Italian.

The Englishman patted his worn black medical bag fondly and stepped into the lobby of the hotel-brothel. Immediately his eyes fell on the statuesque short haired woman leaning on the front desk. He could tell right away she was the woman in charge from her stance and the respectable amount of clothing she was wearing in contrast to the many other women in the lobby entwined around their patrons. And what a woman she was.

Arthur was suddenly aware that he was still standing in the doorway. The Madame was staring at him humorously, a small smile played about her lips. Not that he noticed her smile; the Englishman coughed as he physically blinked to tear his eyes from her ample bosom.

The blue eyed woman stepped away from the desk toward him. She wore a high waisted navy pencil skirt and simple white blouse, the tiny pearl buttons straining to hold her in. Forcing his eyes away from her chest again, Arthur noticed her knee high red boots.

"Looking for some fun, stranger?" She spoke and her voice was light but came from deep in her throat. Arthur noticed by the way she rolled her r's that she hadn't been in America long either.

"Aren't you a pretty bird" He stated boldly looking up into the taller woman's eyes.

"Well, _my_ time is not for sale." She smiled widely down at him, her eyes sparkling.

"No, of course not." He shook his mind back to business. "But where are my manners?" He reached out his hand and took the one she offered, bending to kiss it lightly. "Arthur Kirkland, you may have heard of me?"

"Yekaterina Braginskaya. But most know me by Katyusha." Rosey pink tinged her cheeks as she spoke. She widened her eyes slightly. "Da, I have heard of you Arthur. You have been here before, though I have not met you. What can I do for…someone of your profession?"

The Brit grinned "Katyusha, 'charmed to meet you." Walking past her he set his bag on top of the desk and flicked the lock to open it exposing several small jars of white powder and a package of the new herb he had been preparing the day before.

He turned to face her again as she stepped to peer into the bag. "It's not what you can do for me, doll, but what can I do for you?"

At the look on her face he quickly clarified his intentions. "Your girls work hard," he said with a sympathetic nod toward one of the couples making their way upstairs. "Surely they could use a little pick-me-up" he indicated the powder, "and a bit of relaxation at the end of the day?" He lifted the package of dark green herb.

As the statuesque business woman appraised the offer and the emerald eyed man who waggled his thick brows up at her, a side door opened with force and both turned toward the woman who entered.

This woman was shorter than the other and was clearly her sister; her hair was long and Arthur noticed her right hand was bandaged. "Sestra…who is this?" She asked, looping her injured hand in the crook of her sister's arm and squinting blue-violet eyes at him.

"Arthur Kirkland" He extended a hand to the Belarussian, who completely ignored it.

"Oh Da…the doctor." She laughed and continued, "What the girls spend their money on is up to them." She shrugged and released Katyusha who, Arthur noticed had grown shy in her domineering sister's presence.

"Natalya, you have found a new guard for the office?" Katyusha finally spoke softly gesturing to the young man who had entered the room with her sister unnoticed.

"Da." The Belarussian smiled wickedly. "I insure this one will not speak." Natalya turned to the man, "Show them." Katyusha turned away and Arthur saw why as the young man opened his mouth to reveal that he was missing a tongue.

The Englishman felt chills along his back as Natalya smiled sweetly as her handiwork.

As the younger sister led the new guard away down the hall, the temperature in the lobby seemed to return to normal. Arthur looked up at Katyusha again; her eyes betrayed that she was far away from him in that moment. He'd have to bring her back.

"Alright?" He asked as he reached for her hand across the desk.

"Da" she responded simply, coming back from wherever she had gone.

"So we've a deal then, lovey?" He slid his black leather bag toward her.

"Da."

….

9 hours earlier and nearly 5,000 miles to the East, the sun was just rising and the American agent lay awake next to the Bolshevik revolutionary. Since that first night, he and Ivan had shared a bed. He would be leaving later this morning for home. Alfred lay with his hand across his forehead trying to organize the thoughts racing though his mind.

He would be sorry to leave Ivan. Worried, actually worried, for him knowing he would inevitably be going out to face the White Army again…an army who's ideals his country had been aligned with. He looked forward to being home again, seeing his brother. He had enjoyed his time away from dealing with the Vargas' and knew he would be coming home to a full file of their actions in his absence. He only hoped they were still in the dark about him being out of the country. He had yet to get a clear answer from Ivan as to his younger sister, though he now knew so much more about the man.

Alfred turned on his side and watched the Russian's chest rise and fall as he slept. Occasionally the other man's brows would knit together and he mumbled incoherently in his sleep. Yes, he knew so much more about Ivan, but not nearly enough. He knew the tall, broad shouldered man had a soft spot for sunflowers; He knew he hated the winter, but was fiercely loyal to his country. He learned that he had grown up as the son of a boyar and that he had held that title for a time after his parents died in one of the frequent famines that had shook his nation during the last few decades. He knew that as soon as he had the title he began to pay his serfs and when he got wind of the idealist movement taking over his country he gave up his land and joined the military, not as a lord, but as a common soldier. He had moved up the ranks through ability, and when it had been required, ruthlessness. He knew Ivan loved his sisters, was particularly fond of Katyusha who had given him the scarf that was even now around his neck. Alfred smiled thinking how the intimidating man had talked about his younger sister Natalya. The American couldn't blame him for being somewhat scared of her. She was a nutball for sure.

As much as Alfred had learned about Ivan in those short days, the Russian had learned about him. Guilt twisted his insides as he admonished himself for spilling too much to someone who, as much as he wanted too, he couldn't be sure he could trust. The man was a commie after all.

He lay back on his back. _Well, any revolution is a revolution for a reason, _he thought to himself. _Americans revolted against taxation without representation. Surely that was what the Russian populace had been fighting for…_Wait, was he even entertaining Ivan's worldview? _No. No. No. _He put those thoughts out of his mind and began humming the star spangled banner to drown them completely.

It was as Alfred hummed to himself that it happened.

The Russian beside him mumbled again, louder and distressed sounding. Ivan's brow furrowed and he tossed and turned in the bed, pulling all the covers off Alfred as he twisted them around his body and then flung them off as he turned the other direction.

"Ivan?" Alfred sat up. "IVAN! Wake up, you're having a nightmare."

The Russian sat bolt upright in bed; his eyes were wide open but frantically searching the room as though he were somewhere else, seeing entirely different surroundings.

"Nyet!" He bellowed into the room and took Alfred completely by surprise. "Nyet, Dmitri, Moi droog, ti ne mozhesh oo'meret! Tovarishch, ostat'sya so mnoĭ!"

_What the fuck?_ Alfred thought to himself. He leaned over to get in the Russian's line of sight. "Ivan?"

The broad shouldered man grabbed onto Alfred, throwing him to the mattress and pinning him there. The broad man's violet eyes were overly bright and squinted in malice. A stream of rapid Russian issued from his mouth.

"Sergei, mi igrali vmeste, kak deti. Kak vi mozhete ne videt', chto vremena izmenilis? Pochemoo vi boretes budushchem?"

Alfred had no idea what the crazed man was saying, but clearly it wasn't to him, as his name was neither Dmitri nor Sergei. He tried to stay calm, even with Ivan's knee cutting the air from his lungs. He had known buddies who were changed by the war; he himself had had terrible nightmares when he first got home. Maybe that was what was going on here.

As calm as possible, the American choked out, "Ivan. I am Alfred. You are at home. Everything is okay."

"Ya ne ponimayoo…" Ivan responded slowly, shaking his head.

Just as Alfred was despairing his failure at bringing the other man out of his nightmare, Ivan leaned back, removing his knee from Alfred's wind pipe.

The Russian covered his face in his hands. _Were his shoulders shaking?_ Alfred sat up and put a hand on one of the trembling shoulders.

Ivan shook it off, "I am fine!" he yelled and punched into the wall beside the bed. Drywall fell in pieces around them. Alfred crossed his arms. "You are not." He once again put himself in front of the other man.

"Who are Dmitri and Sergei? Is this something to do with the war?" He continued, "I've been in action too you know. You can talk to me."

Ivan turned his pained lavender eyes to Alfred's open blue ones. "I do not want you to see me as less than a man moi Americanski." He looked down, twisting his scarf in his fingers. "My sleep betrays me."

Alfred took hold of the Russian's hands pulling them away from the end of the scarf. It was so odd that he kept it on but slept in boxers like anyone else. But Alfred put Ivan's oddities out of his mind and spoke seriously to the other man.

"It doesn't make you less of a man to feel pain. I've felt pain; I've even cried…sometimes." He admitted. "Tell me about Sergei and Dmitri."

Silence.

Alfred sighed. He would have to coax it out of him. He racked his brain trying to remember that magic word…

"Pahzaloosta?" He said, remembering the Russian word for 'please'.

Begrudgingly Ivan looked back up. "I need a drink."

When he returned with the bottle of vodka, the Russian took a swig and sat on the edge of the bed facing the American.

"Dmitri was a good friend, we fought together in the Great War, and then again in the revolution and counter revolution the White's brought on us." He took another long swig of the crystal clear liquid. "He died in my arms three months ago." He sighed deeply. "I told his wife." Gulping down still more vodka, he continued. "Sergei was my friend from childhood. We had played together as boys." He looked away angrily. "He did not share my political views. He did not realize, the world has changed!"

Alfred chose not to remind Ivan that he did not exactly agree with the Bolshevik's either, of course, he was also not a monarchist. Instead of commenting, he rested a hand on the troubled man's bare knee.

"It was Sergei who shot my comrade. Sergei; and I had him under my bayonet. I had him and I did not avenge Dmitri. I could not kill my old friend." Ivan took a third drink from his bottle and sat quietly for some time before continuing in a whisper.

"I should have. I should have avenged my true comrade, instead I let a false friend live. They are both dead to me, the Sergei that lives is no friend to me now…and I know we will meet on the field again."

Ivan finished the bottle. He gazed long into Alfred's wide eyes. "Ivan, I am so sorry, but you couldn't be expected to kill an old friend. You did the best you could." The blonde American boldly brushed the tears from the Russian's eyes.

Ivan threw the empty bottle to the floor where it shattered, causing Alfred to jump with surprise.

"Moi Americanski. Moi slodkee Americanski." He pulled the stunned Agent close in a bone crushing embrace. Together they fell back to the mattress.

_Madness must run in the family, _Alfred thought, shocked by the complete change in Ivan's demeanor. But the Russian's quick swift in mood didn't bother him long; Alfred tasted the vodka Ivan had just drank as the slightly larger man kissed him. _Damnit_, Alfred did enjoy the Bolshevik's kisses, and his hands, he admitted to himself as he kissed the Russian back and let the other man pull the covers over them both.

Later that day Alfred boarded his plane headed back to Chicago. Ivan had finally given him a straight answer about his younger sister. The Russian did in the end agree with him; though anarchy was the way to communism, he had said, Ivan knew Natalya wasn't doing what she was for that reason. Both his sisters had been surprised when he joined the Reds. Surely she was simply trying to build up a new title for them, this one at the head of a criminal organization. Ivan would try to get an exit visa to the U.S under the excuse of recruiting his sisters to the cause.

Ignoring the voice of his boss in his head, Alfred had given the Russian his phone number and address. He sat aboard the plane now. He bit at his lip, remembering the kiss goodbye they had shared in a hidden alcove of the airport. _What are you thinking, Alfred?_ He asked himself. Leaning back in the seat, he knew he had no regrets.

As the BOI agent flew back to America, several things were happening in the late, cold, Chicago night.

Romano called his brother to tell him the mole they had in the Bureau of Intelligence had said Agent Jones was in Russia and due back any day.

Ludwig continued to do his best to 'persuade' the defiant Lithuanian soldier.

Mathew opened his brother's apartment door to see the pale haired Gilbert, a case of beer, and a rose in hand. Gilbird fluttered into the apartment ahead of the German. The Canadian shook his head, but smiled as he closed the door and put down his book.

_End of Chapter 7, TBC of course! _

_Translations:_

_Du Hurensohn: You son-of-a-bitch (German)_

_vi ringrazia padre: Thank you father. (Italian)_

_gheta b'you moi stry'yechnee brat! Ya zabyou chyabie!: That was my cousin! I'll kill you! (Belarussian)_

_Amore: Love (Italian)_

_Grazi: Thank you (Italian)_

_mein liebe: my love (German)_

_Nyet, Dmitri, Moi droog, ti ne mozhesh oo'meret! Tovarishch, ostat'sya so mnoi__̆__!: No, No, Dmitri, my friend, you cannot die! Comrade, stay with me!_

_Sergei, mi igrali vmeste, kak deti. Kak vi mozhete ne videt', chto vremena izmenilis? Pochemoo vi boretes budushchem?:Sergey, we played together as children. How can you not see that times have changed? Why do you fight the future?_

_Ya ne Ponimayoo: I dont understand_

_Moi Americanski. Moi slodkee Americanski: My American, My sweet American._

_Why the red boots on Katyusha? Its part of a traditional Ukrainian folk costume._

_Lots more to come in Chapter 8! Brothers will learn more about each other. How loyal is Ivan to his superiors after all? We'll see next chapter! Will Ludwig get the info he needs? Will he and Feliciano ever get to be together? Hahha! Check back! (:_

_Ok now that that sillyness is out of the way, I look forward to your reviews! And goodnight! OMG, its 6:30 am!_

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	8. Chapter 8

_Well Its been a long time coming and quite a lot happens in this chapter with each character and pairing, so it's the longest yet! There will be some death in this chapter (Will it include a main character? You'll have to wait to see! Ahahahaha!) ahem, and There's lovin' to a degree, so we get the 'M' rating again. (Oh don't ya just wanna scroll down right away to find out?) tee hee. Um, yeah, so Ludwig shows off his complexity in this one and is I think fairly mobstery dark throughout this chapter, so enjoy and be warned :D_

_I dont own hetalia, etc._

_Oh and a big huge THANK YOU to you sweet readers who have faved, added and reviewed my lil mafia story! Especially to: Fortunatecookie8, whitealmond, Kisuke-chan, DiscombobulatedCanadian, Shy Music Angel, crownedclown3293, abbygreeneyes of course, EEevee, ryuzaki-will-live-on, Edwin Shiney, and Tuxedo Lady! Your reviews keep me going! :D_

_Now on to Ch 8!_

Weak sunlight danced on the waves of the Calumet River as dawn threatened the last hours of darkness. Feliciano's best capo had at last gotten the information he needed. Laurinaitis' soldier had finally cracked and the German had to hand it to the man; he had lasted longer than most.

The boards of the pier creaked beneath the broad German's steps as he dragged the smaller man toward the edge. He had already attached a cinder block to the Lithuanian's feet, and the heavy concrete block scraped along the boards with a familiar eeriness. The December wind blew past them masking his words from the group of Italians clustered around the trunk of Ludwig's car. The blonde had removed the Lithuanian man's jacket and the ragged blood stained garment lay on the boards beside his feet.

Ludwig held the barely conscious man out at the edge of the pier. The grey-green water of the river sent spray against them with each gust of wind. Ludwig spoke evenly to the other man, unsure of whether he could understand what was being said.

"It vas unfortunate zhat you did not speak sooner. Unlike vhat vill be coming to your boss this is not personal; you understand I must send a message, ja?"

The brunette's one unswollen eye closed as his head lolled to the side. The blonde nodded grimly. He wasn't heartless, but this was his job and the other man surely understood that this was the business they had both chosen.

"You vere strong and held out longer than vas expected. For this I vill give you a quick death."

There was no answer. Perhaps the Lithuanian had given over to blissful sleep; how lucky for him, Ludwig thought to himself. To die in ones sleep was the way everyone wished to go. The tall blonde pulled his pistol from under his long winter coat and held it to the other man's temple.

In one second it was done. He had pulled the trigger, kicked the cinder block off the edge of the pier and released the man's collar to let the body fall into the depths below.

Ludwig pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket. The wind had sent flecks of blood back toward him, and he wiped them calmly from his face. He then turned the handkerchief on his gun barrel cleaning the hot steel in a few practiced swipes.

The tall German then turned toward his soldiers around the car; he motioned to one of them. The dark haired man strolled forward with a package wrapped in butcher paper.

Taking the package in hand, the blonde knelt down to unfold the deceased man's jacket. He then pulled three fresh fish from the package and placed them inside the bloody garment, which in turn was wrapped in the butcher paper and tied with thread in a bow. Ludwig stood; the wrapped message in the crook of his arm.

He looked to the other men with him. This was something he wanted to do alone.

"Emilo", He called to the one who had met them there, "Take the other men vith you. I vill attend to this alone." The Italian nodded, and led the others away toward his car.

Ludwig set the package in the passenger's seat and drove toward the downtown area. The unfortunate Lithuanian had revealed that his boss wasn't staying at the Ukrainian's hotel/brothel but nearby. However, he was supposed to meet with the madame and her sister today at some unknown time. As he didn't know when Toris would be arriving, Ludwig intended to stake the place out all day until he did arrive if need be. He'd simply run all his errands early and then he'd place himself outside the establishment to wait.

The blonde's face was serious as he drove and let the thoughts formulate in his mind. His actions today would send a message to the Belarussian that she was dealing with more than she could handle. His actions today would show her that her options were limited. Either she would run back home defeated or she would die here in Chicago.

Blue eyes squinted maliciously as Ludwig thought about the events of the night at the docks when he had nearly lost Feliciano. The fear he had felt that night had left a cold pit in his heart. The German's knuckles whitened on his steering wheel. He knew he would only feel satisfied when he had gotten rid of each of Feliciano's rivals.

His petite Italian love would still be in bed at this time. His expression softened slightly as he thought of Feliciano asleep in the large bed; Ludwig wanted nothing more than to join him in that bed and he hoped Toris would be meeting with Natalya early. His face flushed crimson as the night before played over in his mind. It was amazing how thoughts he would never have allowed to come to the surface a mere week ago, he accepted now. The idea of his petite boss in his arms felt right to him now, and it was impossible to imagine a world where he couldn't hold Feliciano close; where he didn't hear the small voice sigh, or see those wide caramel brown eyes gazing up into his own.

However, as Ludwig's mind wandered through the night before, invariably the memory of Feliciano's hand tightening its hold on his in pain came to the forefront. The German's brow furrowed as the image of the blood seeping through the smaller man's bandaged chest flashed across his mind's eye.

The serious determined expression returned to his face as Ludwig let his foot rest heavier on the gas pedal and he raced toward downtown with the rising of the sun. He knew life would never be easy for he and Feliciano, and that it was delusional to expect a long one. However, Ludwig knew he would do all he could to protect and avenge his Italian love.

After concluding his usual business of checking in on various fronts and rackets earlier than usual Ludwig approached the Ukrainian district. The silhouette of the Gold Star appeared backed by the sun's weak rays. The German slowed the car and pulled in behind the building. He parked in the shadows and settled in to wait.

As the sun rose in the morning sky and the capo waited and watched for his enemy, the BOI agent was embracing his brother after a long flight. One blonde bespeckled man promising to tell the other all about his trip to Russia; after a much needed nap of course.

Alfred Jones staggered toward the sofa and flopped onto it, not even attempting to make it to his bed. He was fast asleep and snoring before even taking off his coat. The agent was completely unaware of his brother removing his shoes and throwing a blanket over him.

Mathew was glad Alfred wasn't awake to see him blush as he removed a tiny yellow feather from the blanket before covering his brother with it.

The young professor was able to rest at last knowing Alfred was safely home from his dangerous job. Mathew yawned and settled in the chair across from his sprawling twin on the sofa. As the Canadian's eyes drifted closed he knew he would soon have to have a difficult conversation with his brother but it could wait…

Several hours later, the two men sat in a corner booth at Alfred's favorite burger joint. Mathew had suggested it as soon as his twin had awoken shortly after noon.

Alfred was thoroughly enjoying his burger. He had really missed his customary cheeseburger for lunch and had made up for it now when he'd ordered five. Mathew had rolled his eyes visibly as he ordered.

Alfred was now fully digging in to his half pound cheeseburger, relishing the fact that he needed several napkins.

In the midst of a bite he noticed his brother was picking at a French fry with one hand and rubbing the back of his neck with the other. Alfred meant to ask if something was wrong but all that came out around his full mouth was a questioning sound composed of incomprehensible syllables and a couple stray pieces of hamburger.

Mathew looked up from his plate and perhaps it was because his brother's mouth was full and he knew he would have a moment to get out the difficult news; He spoke softly but quickly.

"Um, Alfred...you know how you told me to go out?"

Still chewing, Alfred nodded. Had Matthew actually listened to him? Alfred wondered as he took another bite and his brother continued.

"Well I think I might've run into some trouble..."

Quizzically the shorter haired twin looked around his burger. "hmm?" he asked, still chewing. "whut?"

Taking a deep breathe the Canadian spoke rapidly in an attempt to get it all out at once.

"Well it was innocent at first, really. I was just on my way back from the cinema and I passed a club called The Roost. It was so windy I thought I'd stop in and listen to a little jazz before continuing home. The minute I walked in this couple assaulted me. It seems they thought I was you. An easy mistake to make I suppose. Well, luckily, the bartender, Gilbert…,"

Mathew felt the color rise in his face and hoped sincerely that his brother didn't notice as he continued,

"Um, intervened. I...I don't know how to tell you this Alfred. I...I hope you won't think less of me," He lowered his voice, glanced around and with a nervous and slightly sad look toward his brother continued. "Well one thing lead to another Al and I admit I may have been drinking but we really hit it off that night. I...I really like him."

Mathew stared intently into the eyes so very like his own, hoping his occasionally thick-headed brother wouldn't need him to state it more clearly. Noticing Alfred's still full mouth, as his twin had stopped chewing and was just...staring, he continued.

"And it's a good thing we did too because he came over the next morning to warn me that the couple who assaulted me are working with the Italian mob. He said not to come around the club anymore; he said they're looking for me."

Alfred sat there dumbfounded. He stared at his twin across from him as everything Mathew had said fell into place in his mind. He wasn't surprised much that Mattie was interested in guys; it was actually a relief, since it might be easier to talk about what had happened in Russia. But the events…wait….had he said Gilbert? Had he said the Roost? That club was well known as a popular mob hangout. Wait…hit it off with…NO WAY!

Alfred tried to speak up as it all came together in his mind and in his indignation, choked on his burger, spitting the whole mouthful out onto the table. It took him a second to get it together as his brother sat despairingly across from him.

"HOLY SHIT MATT!" He finally managed to get out as he coughed some more recovering from the shock. "Of all the places to go! GILBERT? Albino, German, Gilbert Beilschmidt?"

Mathew hadn't been expecting that part to be the bit his twin got mad about. He blushed deeply and weakly let out a nervous laugh. "Well there couldn't be two could there? So you uhm...know him?"

_Did he know him? Good lord_. Alfred thought as he took a long gulp of his coca-cola to steady himself before continuing.

"There are so many men in Chicago..."You just had to pick_ that_ one of all the guys in the city? Well he would be able to warn you, seeing as his brother _works_ for the Italians!

His brother Ludwig is the unofficial 2nd in command for God sakes!"

Alfred shook his head as his brother paled across from him. When the Canadian spoke again he was so quiet that Alfred barely heard him.

"His...brother...?"

Mathew looked dejectedly at the table top.

"oh"

Alfred suddenly realized his brother was hurt. Maybe he shouldn't have reacted so strongly…

"look, Mattie, its not your fault, its not like he'd open with that, and your not from around here!" He leaned across the table and put a hand on his brother's shoulder in consolation then pulled back slightly as something else his twin had said came to mind.

"Wait...came over? As in to MY apartment?"

Mathew twiddled his thumbs looking guilty "Well he...he wanted to walk me home after warning me." He tilted his head to the side as he thought about the next night. "And then later..."

"GOD MATT! HOW MUCH TROUBLE CAN YOU GET IN IN 3 DAYS?" Alfred exclaimed shocked.

His brother blushed. "You aren't upset that I'm, um...I'm..." He just couldn't get the words out. "Well you're not upset about _that_ part then?" Mathew felt like his face would never return to a normal color, his neck only getting hotter as he waited for his brother's reaction.

Alfred sat back in his seat. He sipped at his drink, hoping Mathew couldn't tell that he was beginning to blush as well.

"That you're queer? Well, no, I mean, I didn't know for sure or anything..." He took another sip and went on.

"But really...you just_ had_ to get in bed with the brother of a mobster? Beilschmidt doesn't have any mob activities that we know of but he's on the wrong side of the law with that Roost of his, and his brother...well, the river and the cemeteries are full of _his_ handiwork!"

The federal agent shook his head. "I certainly didn't figure you for going for bad boys!"

Mathew's blush wasn't going anywhere. He spluttered indignantly. "Who, who said anything about bed? I've only known him for 3 days!"

He then smiled, realizing his brother was okay with his sexuality; he'd been worried that Alfred wouldn't be alright with anything his country frowned on. He continued more at ease.

"Anyway I'm glad you're okay with it."

Alfred would really prefer to change the subject; he wasn't sure how to best address what happened between him and Ivan, especially if his brother had had such high morals while he had basically jumped into the sack in the first hour…half hour really.

Instead of focusing on that, he bellowed out, "I'M NOT OK WITH WHO!" and then quieter, squinting suspiciously at his brother, "and you haven't? really?"

Mathew whined, mortified, "Alfred~!" and then straightened in his seat; he looked seriously across the table. "Anyway Gilbert and I need to have a talk obviously."

Alfred shook his head vehemently and pointed across at his twin. "I DONT WANT YOU NEAR HIM!"

His brother, who was usually so shy as to nearly disappear, suddenly looked across at him angrily. "Really, Alfred? As I recall _he_ was the one looking out for me when you conveniently forgot to fill me in on your enemies before you skipped town. I hope you enjoyed your trip to Russia."

At his brother's comment Alfred felt himself blushing ridiculously and looked away to cover for himself. "I...guess," he started, fumbling for a way to get the conversation back on his brother. "Still, I don't like the people he's around...and…and, um..."

To smart to be derailed, Mathew picked up on his brother's evasive behavior. His eyes widened as he learned forward toward Alfred.

"and um?" As the American twin was able to do nothing more than splutter and look away, Mathew's eyes suddenly lit up. "Alfred!"

Alfred turned back to face his brother. He certainly couldn't let on to what had happened with Ivan, he'd look like a floozy for hopping in bed so fast! And with a commie! Though he regretted nothing and had actually found his thoughts returning to the complex man frequently since leaving Russia, Alfred hated looking like a hypocrite

"And NOTHING!" It was all business, went just as I thought it would, he totally agreed with me! Very productive!"

His face now beet red, the agent started to stand. "I'm g-gonna get another coke!"

Mathew grabbed hold of his brother's sleeve, preventing him from leaving the table.

"You liar! I remember how you talked about his picture." Alfred tried to look away, but saw how his brother's face softened as Mathew continued. "I think we're a lot more alike than we knew hmm? Why don't you tell me what really went on in Russia?"

Alfred sat back down and covering his face with one hand, he muttered "Yeah...yeah I guess we are Mattie…" He sighed, knowing his brother was waiting for the whole story. "Well...uh… we argued, you know...politics…um...and then..." Alfred continued, "um, well, I'm awesome you know, super irresistible and all" He looked up, cracking a grin, thankful that they're in such a secluded part of the restaurant.

Mathew shook his head. "Oh Al did you get _any_ work done?"

"YES! He did agree with me finally and he's planning on coming here to get his sister so, hopefully she'll take care of Vargas for me by then and if not, then at least she's out of the way and I only have _one_ crime unit to deal with!" Alfred's blush grew in intensity. "Of course it took the whole three days for him to decide that..." He trailed off pitifully.

Mathew laughed, "With negotiating skills like that have you ever considered going into

Diplomacy?"

"Humph!" Alfred crossed his arms. "Hey, just cause you're a saint!"

At that, both brothers laughed. Alfred could tell his brother felt much more at ease as he commented around light chuckles "oh Al I don't think I'm in danger of being sainted anytime soon!"

Laughter broke out again, and as each brother caught his breathe, Alfred realized he hadn't gotten much more information about what exactly happened to Mathew at the Roost.

"So, um" Alfred began, turning serious. "Um, aside from our...uh, romantic situations" He mentally patted himself on the back for his tact as he continued,

"Who _exactly_ attacked you in the Roost?"

"It was a couple." His brother answered, echoing Alfred's now serious expression. "A woman with long brown hair, I remember Gil called her "Lizzie" and her husband I think his last name was Edelstein. I don't know his first."

Alfred slammed his now empty soda bottle on the table loudly.

"Roderich Edelstein! I put him away!" He fumed as he continued. "I always suspected he took the fall for his wife 'Lizzie' Elizaveta. She's one of the Vargas's favorite assassins!"

At the look on Mathew's face Alfred suddenly realized it was his brother these two had gone after.

"Man, I'm ...um, sorry I didn't warn you! But hey! In my defense - I didn't think you go DRINKING!"

"I didn't know they served alcohol! Mathew countered, "And then, after what happened, could you really blame me for needing something stiff?"

Alfred saw his brother blush furiously again as Mathew realized his word choice.

"A drink! Not like...not like that!"

"Oh suuure!" Alfred laughed as his twin buried his face in his hands and made that exasperated sound low in his throat that he always did.

The BOI agent laughed harder, nearly falling out of his chair and then attempting to regain seriousness, he looked over at his brother. "Ok, seriously, though - I think I need to give you a gun - you cant be hanging around Gilbert Beilschmidt without one, especially with these people after you…maybe you should just stick near me at all times..."

Shaking his head again, Alfred continued. "I still can't believe you had to pick _that_ club..."

Mathew looked stricken. "Gilbert said I should be okay as long as I watch myself and don't go near the club. You really think I need a gun?"

Alfred pointed his balled up burger wrapper at his brother. "They'll be armed you know." He grew thoughtful and continued. "Well, as long as Gilbert really is on your side, and _not_ using you...then he wont have told anyone where you're staying..."

He trailed off before continuing and Mathew took his chance to get a word in defending Gilbert.

"He's not using me!"

Alfred looked skeptically at his brother. "You're not going back there for sure though, and I want you to keep an eye out at all times when you're away from the apartment!" Alfred ran a hand through his hair. "Seriously, seems like you were in more danger these past few days than I was!"

Mathew laughed at that as he had lost sleep worrying about his brother. He finally agreed to carry a gun if Alfred thought it was best and the two made ready to leave.

Alfred turned toward his brother as they threw away the empty wrappers and made toward the door.

"Well, after what you told me, I think I need to go to the office and get into the surveillance files so I can see what Rod and Lizzie have been up too...Wanna come along?"

He was relieved that Mathew agreed, as now that Alfred knew how much danger his brother had gotten into, he really would rather keep him in view for now.

As they walked toward the nearest 'L' stop, to take the rapid rail transit that served the city and outlying areas, Mathew looped an arm around his twin's shoulders, glad that Alfred was back and determined to be optimistic. "I know it's unorthodox, but what do you say to pancakes for dinner tonight? I think we could both use some maple."

Alfred hugged his brother back and exclaimed, "Definitely!"

As the hours went by into the afternoon, and the agent and his brother looked through surveillance notes on the Hungarian woman and her Austrian husband's activities, Feliciano Vargas was handling his business from bed. He had promised Ludwig that he would rest today.

The petite Mafioso had favours to grant, favours to call in, people to persuade, and rackets to keep up with, and all this to do by phone. Feliciano really did want to heal though, because as soon as he did he'd be able to show his strong German love how much he meant to him.

The boss lay back against the headboard and smiled, his eyes lighting up as he thought about the tall blonde. The Italian sighed, "Veh~" he couldn't wait to hear from Ludwig.

As always his love had gotten the enemy's lackey to talk. Ludwig always came through for him. Feliciano smiled more broadly. Everything was coming together for them.

Ludwig would be showing the Belarussian not to underestimate his family; as of now they had the upper hand. His brother Romano was focused on the agent, who apparently had just returned from Russia. That Jones had been supposedly meeting with Arlovskaya's brother did cause him some worry; what was this Ivan's connection to his sister's mob? Was he really the one in charge? That would certainly make sense. If this was the case, Agent Jones was clearly cementing the arrangement with the rival family and would need to be taken care of. This was a slight problem however, as he was the Bureau's top man in Chicago, answering directly to D.C. His murder would be high profile indeed.

The brunette frowned and twisted his hair thoughtfully. He had told Romano he trusted him to take care of it. If the agent couldn't be bought off, perhaps he could be persuaded to leave the case. Honestly the petite boss doubted either would work with the overly zealous agent. Jones saw himself as a hero for all of Chicago. No, he would probably have to die…

Feliciano put the agent out of his mind however as a third cousin arrived with a steaming plate of agnolotti pasta.

"Mmmm, just what I was wanting!" He smiled brightly at the young man who was around his own age. Feliciano savored the half-moon pockets of seasoned meat in butter sauce happily.

"Veh~" pasta made everything better!

He wouldn't worry about the agent. Romano could handle it. He'd just have to check in with his older brother and see how it was going. For now he would just relax, enjoy his pasta and wait to hear good news from Ludwig. He had promised to rest, but after this late lunch he'd be getting out of bed at least for a while.

The Italian speared one of the pasta pockets and brought it to his mouth as he looked to the calendar on the wall. Today was December 16th. The brunette smiled happily as he enjoyed his pasta. He'd step out for a moment today to pick up a Christmas gift for Ludwig. He had just the thing in mind.

A few hours later the man behind the counter at Russo's Gun Emporium stammered and blanched. He must have been worried seeing the don enter his shop and thought today would be the day he paid back his debts.

Feliciano smiled broadly as he walked up to the counter, his hands in the pockets of his favorite navy blue pin striped trousers.

"Veh~ Look a little happier to see me Sal; My brother and I have been your best customers, have we not?" He leaned his side on the counter smoothly, hiding the pain in his chest. The pain had actually faded quite a bit Feliciano was happy to note. Withdrawing a wad of cash from his pocket he grinned at the change in the proprietor's expression as the middle aged man's eyes alighted on the money. Feliciano stood straight again and tapped a finger to the stack of hundreds.

"It'll be a special order." The petite Mafioso winked at the man behind the counter who nodded in understanding and pocketed the cash before leading the younger man to his office.

Oh, it would be hard to keep the gift a secret when he saw his capo later tonight, Feliciano thought as he began to describe what he wanted made.

While Don Vargas described what he had in mind for Ludwig's gift, The Agent and his brother were sitting at Alfred's kitchen table, just finishing the dinner of pancakes Mathew had promised.

The two blondes relaxed at the table peacefully. Neither had spoken about the four hour surveillance gap they had found while looking through the files on the Hungarian. Alfred had told his brother not to worry about it, that it was no big deal. Mathew hadn't seemed entirely sure, but hadn't said anything as they returned to the apartment. Mattie really didn't need to worry, at any rate, Alfred thought to himself, now that he was home his twin would be safe.

Alfred took a large gulp from his glass of orange juice. As he set the glass back on the table and leaned in his seat, twirling his fork between his fingers, Alfred noticed his brother was looking at him with a nearly mischievous grin. This was an unusual expression for his studious twin.

"So exactly _how_ irresistible were you?" Mathew asked him, grinning.

"Uh!" Alfred spluttered in response.

His brother simply continued to grin across the table at him.

Alfred grumbled and replied, putting as much bravado in his answer as possible. He was determined to not look like a hypocritical floozy! Oh god, the boys at work would never ever know about this or he'd have to transfer…

"Well, you know how passionate I get about, you know, how my government is well, the best?" he pointed his fork across at his brother and then down toward the table. "You know it is! We're the bee's knees down here!" He continued, "Anyway, Ivan is...kind of the same, so... it actually started as a fight..."

"You would just have to get into politics with a Bolshevik, wouldn't you?" Mathew shook his head smiling at his impulsively patriotic brother.

Alfred replied heatedly. "How could I not? Really! Capitalism is OBVIOUSLY better!" But uh... then he got all "you don't know how it is...famine, war, etc" Then..uh, before I knew it...uhm we uh...well, you know" Alfred blushed ridiculously again and waved his hand dismissively. At the expression on Mathew's face, he jumped to defend himself.

"I was still Delirious from the cold!" He crossed his arms, pouting.

His brother was sitting stunned with his mouth hanging open. "You went from war and famine to "_uh_..."...Just like that?"

"HE started it!" Alfred yelled back. It was true. The Russian _had_ started it…

"Either way don't you think that is a little inappropriate considering the subject matter? If you were in my history class I would've given you both detention!"

Alfred immediately launched into the defensive; how Ivan's language had been far prettier than he had expected and it had been really cold. Each excuse weaker, as he dug himself further into a hole. Mathew laughed at the fact that Alfred had had the audacity to accuse _him_ of going for a bad boy. He pointed out that Alfred had been pretty bad himself.

"Me? I didn't start it, I said! Plus, he's the Bolshevik commie!" Alfred retorted before he'd realized if Ivan was the bad boy, it made it sound like he had been the swooning damsel. "Uh, I mean, we both… Oh damnit!"

He threw his hands up in defeat. "Just wait, when you meet him, you'll see!"

His brother dropped his fork to clatter against the plate. "When I what now?"

"Oh yeah.." Alfred laughed and then recounted how Ivan had planned to get an exit visa right away and even now was probably on his way to the States. It took Mathew a moment but in the end he relaxed about the prospect of sharing his time with Alfred, which was supposed to have been a vacation, with the Russian.

"As long as he doesn't attract more trouble. That's the last thing we need right now." Mathew said as he took his last bite of pancake.

Cheered by his brother's acceptance of Ivan, Alfred spoke up excitedly, "Oh you'll like him! He's a good cook too - he makes these cherry filled things...var..var, uh, varniki or something! They're really good!" He laughed, leaning back in his chair. "Just do not start talking politics!"

Mathew laughed back, "That's _your_ game Alfred!"

"Oh, HA. HA."

Both men had now finished their pancakes and Mathew stood and began to gather up the dishes. As he started washing them, the young history professor's worries began to gnaw at him again. He called over to his brother at the table, "So...about those 4 missing hours. What do you think she was up to?"

As Mathew had expected, Alfred beamed up at him, promising that it was probably nothing and that he need not worry about it anymore as long as Alfred was around he'd protect him. His brother puffed out his chest and grinned radiantly.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much. I'm back now, I'll protect you!"

Mathew had heard this before with Gilbert and instead of feeling doubly safe, a sinking sense of dread was beginning to come over him.

"Of course you will Al."

Still in his big brother hero mode, though they were the same age, Alfred continued.

"Yeah, no worries! I-" He was suddenly cut off by the phone ringing. Alfred stood from the table and went to answer it. Mathew stood at the sink; still up to his elbows in dish water.

A moment passed as Alfred stood silently at the phone. He turned to roll his eyes at his brother, who looked at him curiously from the sink.

"Nope. You are definitely calling for my brother...'liebe'" Alfred replied to the man on the other line before holding the receiver out to his brother who was drying his hands and trying to hide a smile as he took the phone

"Guten Aubend, Gilbert..."

Alfred sighed loudly and then leaning toward his brother to insure that the German could hear him he said, "I'm gonna go load that gun for you Mattie!"

He then walked into the hallway, but stopped short of reaching into the cabinet for ammunition as he listened to his brother's end of the conversation.

Mathew was silent for a few moments, then Alfred heard his reply to whatever the mobster's brother had said.

"Sure, that's fine I had something I wanted to talk to you about anyway. Let's meet tonight. At the park near the bakery we went to? Is that okay? Great. I'll see you then!"

Fantastic. His brother was going to meet the questionable German at some park…it'd be dark soon…. Yes, he was definitely loading that gun now, Alfred thought as he pulled open the cabinet to retrieve a half dozen rounds.

Half an hour later the young Canadian professor rubbed his arms for warmth as he stood under the streetlight. The park was cold and not as populated as he had hoped it would be. The sun had already disappeared below the horizon and he was beginning to wish he'd let his brother come along…

_Could Al have been right when he said he might be using me? _Mathew thought; his wide eyes scanning the area. _No, no, don't think that way…he wouldn't have warned me…_

Now that Mathew knew how Gilbert must have come by the information, it reinforced his trust, really. Surely telling him was a dangerous thing to do. Still, he'd be a lot less worried if the German would show up already!

Mathew leaned against the light post and adjusted his hat, the thing had tried to fly away twice already.

Just then a whistle sounded from somewhere in the shadows. The blonde man jumped and let go of the brown bowler hat which promptly blew away into the wind.

He didn't have time to spare on his hat and gave it up as a loss. Instead he cautiously called, "Who's there?"

"Who else did you invite?" The German voice came from the shadows. "Come out of the light. I think I might have been followed." Mathew's eyes widened in sudden fear and his heart echoed the feeling as the organ constricted; he was thankful for the weapon his brother had given him. Apparently the fear was clear on his face, as the German called again in a whisper, "I think I gave them the slip, but just in case, we should stick to the dark. Come here mien liebling, I will protect you."

Glancing to the right and left apprehensively the Blonde stuck his hands into the pockets of his tweed jacket and trying to appear nonchalant, he strolled swiftly into the shadow.

Matthew was sick of people telling him they'd protect him. Especially when it was the same people who were responsible for getting him into trouble in the first place. Still, He couldn't seem to hold it against Gilbert as much as he wanted to.

"So how have you been cutie?" Gilbert leaned close to Matt and smiled putting a hand on the blonde's shoulder. The German didn't fail to notice the way the other man stayed firm and the little frown on his face didn't waiver at his advances like it usually would.

"Well," Matthew began "As you know my brother is back in town. Obviously, we had a lot to talk about."

Gilbert smirked. "About the awesome me?"

"Among other things...yes." The Canadian bit his bottom lip softly. This would be the moment of truth. "I think he was a little more concerned about _your brother_ than about you actually. Not that he was exactly excited about me associating with the owner of a speak-easy."

Gilbert flinched even though he knew it had been coming. _What was that English expression...?_ "Cat's out of the bag."

Matthew nodded "Ja, die katze and I hear he has some real claws."

Gilbert was about to open his mouth to brag about how his claws were vastly superior but realized now was not the time (or the context) in which to express his sibling rivalry.

He said instead "I can't deny that."

Matthew sighed and cast another nervous glance around them. Gilbert practically glowed in the dark with his pale skin and Matt hadn't forgotten his earlier comment about being followed. Part of him wished he was back in Canada away from all of this but part of him was glad he'd come to visit Alfred and made the fateful decision to stop in at the roost, if for no other reason then to have met Gilbert.

He hadn't realized he'd been so lonely.

"Why does it have to be like this? Your brother is a..." he lowered his voice "_mobster_ and mine's a BOI agent!"

Gilbert fidgeted. "Hey, you aren't going to let a little thing like that keep us apart are you? I thought this was Chicago not Verona!"

Matthew felt a chill not unlike that of an actor upon hearing the name "Macbeth" minutes before the curtain rose.

"Don't talk like that! And no, I didn't come here to end this but I need you to promise me you aren't involved with your brother's work. Promise me I can trust you, Gilbert."

The shadows seemed to wrap around them. The lights in the distance blotted out as Matthew locked eyes with Gilbert, letting the weight of the trust he was offering rest between them. The white haired German became his sole focus.

Gilbert felt his chest constrict and his breathing become harder. It wasn't that there was any doubt about his connection to the mafia. He was strictly a business man. Granted it was an illegal business, but he had remained strictly independent. If anything Ludwig had helped him remain free of the Mafia. It was how close he had become to Matthew in such a short time that left him breathless.

Gilbert was proud of his many conquests and wasn't a man prone to excess affection and certainly not...Scheiße!...commitment.

At this point he'd stuck his neck out for Matthew twice and there seemed to be no turning back.

He wrapped an arm around Matt's back, drew him close and cupped his chin in his hand. He captured the Canadian's now familiar lips in a deep kiss.

When they parted he smirked "Of course you can trust me, liebeling. I swear I'm exactly what I seem, for better or worse."

"'I understand why you didn't tell me." Matthew smiled. His worries were far from gone but right now all he wanted was to feel Gilbert's warmth against his own.

He made to press himself close to his paramour but was interrupted by an annoyed cheep from within Gilbert's coat.

"Oh." Gilbert flushed "I forgot he was in there."

The Canadian rolled his eyes.

"Come on," Matthew took Gilbert's hand. Freed to do so by the comforting darkness that concealed them. "Take me home."

By the time the young Canadian professor met with the crimson eyed Gilbert, a man he was determined to trust and was beginning to really believe he could, the pale German's brother had been waiting vigilantly for the unsuspecting Lithuanian all day.

….

The tall blonde stood against the brick wall of the alley behind the Gold Star as the sun disappeared from the sky. He had decided to wait outside his car. Regardless of the cold, it would be easier for him to act quickly as soon as the Lithuanian made his presence known.

An hour earlier the German had been listening intently to an argument inside. He wished he had been able to understand anything said, but the three voices were speaking a common and foreign tongue, however, he had recognized the Lithuanian's stammering voice. It seemed he had been angry at the Belarussian. Apparently the man had gotten there sometime early that morning before Ludwig. No matter, the German thought. He could certainly wait. The blonde had stood at the ready outside the back door.

Ludwig had heard the man's voice rise slightly, Toris had sounded shocked about something the Belarussian had said. Natalya in Turn had screeched back at him, causing the man to stutter more. Ludwig could hear the Lithuanian shaking in front of the small knife wielding maniac. Next had come a soft, timid, but defending voice which must be the Belarussian's sister; she had immediately been drowned out by Natalya's stream of high pitched anger. Over Natalya's rage, came the only voice Ludwig could understand.

"Right now, Right, lets all settle." The British dealer spoke up, sounding as lost in the conversation as the German outside the back door. "No need to fight, ladies! I've just the thing to calm those nerves – no charge of course."

The tall blonde chuckled silently to himself as he heard the next line. Well, at least Kirkland was keeping his side of the bargain and hanging around the sisters.

"ha, ha, ok, right, not interested then?" The Englishman's footsteps could be heard retreating as Natalya advanced. "No need for the knife there, doll!" Ludwig heard a bang as Arthur apparently backed into a table or desk and then appealed to the Lithuanian. "Come on now chap, use your loaf and just apologize already!"

Things had somehow settled down soon after, and now the tall capo waited, hidden in the shadows against the alley wall.

He didn't have to wait long. The last rays of sunlight fled the horizon and bathed the alley in pitch darkness as Ludwig turned toward the man now exciting the back door. The brunette didn't even look to either side and it was all too easy as the taller blonde came up behind him, quickly covering the Lithuanian's mouth with his large hand.

"Calling for help vill do you no good, Laurenitis." The German growled low into Toris' ear as he dragged the struggling man away into the dark.

The larger man lifted the slight brunette with one arm and slammed him against the brick wall of the alley. The Lithuanian groaned and stammered out, "Y-You are the German who works wi-with the Italians!"

"Correct." Ludwig's blue eyes flashed in the dark. "Und you are zhe man who shot mein…boss."

The blonde leaned in inches from the shivering brunette. The Lithuanian jutted out his jaw proudly though he shook uncontrollably. "I-I wou-would do it a-all again!"

"Oh ja?" Ludwig's blood boiled and he lifted his pistol to the other man's chest. He brushed the edge of Toris' jacket open with the barrel of the gun and rested the business end against the thin material of the Lithuanian's buttoned shirt. His placement was purposeful to mirror just where Feliciano had been shot.

"You vill learn tonight vhat happens vhen you go against Feliciano Vargas."

Ludwig's heart beat steadily as the familiar coolness came over him. He would leave this man Toris in the same condition the Lithuanian had left his petite Italian days ago. The broad shouldered blonde grinned humorlessly as the satisfying feeling of impending revenge flowed through his veins. He was delighted with the expression on the smaller man's face as his own darkened.

Though he was shaken and still stuttered uncontrollably Toris gulped and raised his wide blue green eyes to meet Ludwig's icy ones. "D-do wha-what you will. It d-doesn't ma-matter anyway."

The blonde chuckled darkly remembering the night at the dock. "Oh, does the Belarussian not return your affection?" He tightened his hold on the Lithuanian, pressing the cold steel deeper against Toris' chest and spoke grimly. "Vell, zhat is unfortunate for you…"

The brunette closed his eyes in despair and let out a tiny groan as though his stomach ached. "Just d-do it. Get it o-over with."

Ludwig continued to stare seriously at the other man, making the Lithuanian quell beneath his glare. "I vill not give you a fast death… no, I vill do to you vhat you did to Feliciano. I vill leave it to your…friends…"

The German stopped, allowing the words to sink into Toris' already growing self doubt before continuing, "I vill leave it to them to decide if you live or die. Do you think they vill come to your aid? Do you think they vill be fast enough to save you?"

Ludwig didn't wait for an answer before he pulled the trigger. The bullet shot from the chamber with a muffled blast against the Lithuanian's chest and into the bricks behind him.

The taller blonde let Toris fall to the pavement. He stood over the other man watching the crimson stain grow against his chest as the shuddering brunette clutched at it and struggled to breathe as his left lung began to fill with blood. Ludwig took a step toward the car and reached inside for the package. Returning to the shivering Lithuanian on the ground, Ludwig tossed it onto his lap.

"Vhat is left of your man. I broke him like I vill break anyone who opposes us."

Toris' blue-green eyes were beginning to glaze over. It was time to make sure his message reached the Belarussian. Ludwig stooped to pick up a loose brick from the alley floor and in one swift motion he hurled the brick through an upstairs window.

Glass shattered and a woman yelled out in surprise as Ludwig coolly stepped over Toris on his way to the car. As he started the engine and backed out the alley his headlights shown on the tall blonde Katyusha as she threw open the back door and rushed down the steps.

Now his work was concluded for the night, Ludwig whistled happily to himself as he drove away.

In 15 minutes he had picked up a bottle of Feliciano's favorite wine and a box of cremeschnitte. The blonde smiled lightly, intent on introducing his petite Italian to German pastries.

A short while later, Ludwig stepped quickly up the stairs on his way to his love. The rush from completing a day's work gave him energy and he nearly bounded through the door to Feliciano's penthouse.

"Feli?" The German called, "I have sweets." His good mood was only heightened when the brunette hurried toward him from the bedroom.

Feliciano flung his arms around the tall blonde's neck and standing on his toes, he planted a warm lingering kiss on Ludwig's surprised lips.

Holding the wine and pastries in one arm, the German embraced the petite brunette around the waist with his other arm and lifted him from the floor. Ludwig kissed Feliciano back with passion and was delighted as the Italian moaning happily as the German intertwined his tongue with his.

Ludwig dropped the box of cremeschnitte on the table and just managed to set the wine bottle beside it. His other arm free, Ludwig wrapped the smaller man in both his arms and lost himself in the feel of Feliciano's kiss.

Feliciano ignored the pain in his chest, which was really much less now. He was able to melt into the larger man's arms when his strong German love held him. As they broke for air the Italian brushed his cheek against Ludwig's as he pressed himself closer into the tall man's broad chest. "Veh~ Ludwig. Let me show you how important you are to me!"

The blonde relaxed his hold, letting the petite Italian slide down to rest his feet on the ground again. Feliciano played with the buttons of Ludwig's shirt as his wide brown eyes gazed up into his capo's light blue ones.

The babyfaced boss leaned into the larger man's hand as Ludwig twirled the curl that always stuck out from the side of the brunette's hair. "Veh~ Per favore, il mio amore?"

Feliciano's eyes roamed over his tall capo's body. How could the other man expect him to hold back? Not everyone could have the willpower his love had mastered. Ludwig had already removed his jacket before entering the building and was dressed in only his white buttoned shirt, simple dark green slacks and suspenders. Feliciano still wondered how it had taken them so long to be honest with themselves.

As Ludwig pulled Feliciano close again against his chest, the Italian slipped his arm around the German's neck once more, pulling himself up on his tip toes. Breathing lightly he nuzzled his blonde capo's cheek and took the taller man's earlobe in his mouth. He was rewarded with an involuntarily pleasured groan from his German love as Feliciano nibbled and teased his ear.

The shorter Italian let himself begin to slide back to his usual height while trailing kisses down Ludwig's neck until he found that familiar spot from that memorable night a week ago.

He bit and sucked and marked his beloved, causing tremors to shoot down Ludwig's spine, as the strong man tightened his hold on Feliciano. It seemed he'd be wearing a turtleneck again. Finally Feliciano released him and stretched up on his tip toes yet again, and as the two once more locked their lips together the Italian pulled the German's suspenders from his shoulders to hang loosely at the taller man's hips.

Ludwig pulled back and though he longed to explore all that his petite love offered he had no desire to see Feliciano in pain again. "Nein, mein Liebe. No, we can't. I do not vant to hurt you." He looked to the side, knowing that if he continued to gaze into Feliciano's wide caramel eyes he would be undone and give in to what they both longed for.

As the usually self controlled German looked away to give his mind time to assert it's dominance over his heart, he felt Feliciano's smaller hand grip his own.

Feliciano would not be swayed from his misson. He was determined to show Ludwig that he loved him; tonight they would go further than the kisses and embracing they had done before. The babyfaced Italian would just have to turn on all his charm to get his uptight man to relax.

He pulled Ludwig by the hand toward the sofa. The mafioso hadn't risen to the top by accident, he knew how to manipulate things occasionally to get what he wanted, and this time Feliciano made sure both he and Ludwig were seated on the plush material before he slid off it to the crimson carpet below.

On his knees, the brunette smiled up at his tall blonde on the sofa as Ludwig stared quizzically down at him. "Feli..vhat are you doing?"

Feliciano ran his hands along the other man's muscular thighs and congratulated himself as he managed to get between the German's knees.

Ludwig's blue eyes were wide as he reached down to cup Feliciano's chin, and bent to capture the petite man's lips in a kiss. Pulling back from his Italian's soft lips he stated emphatically, "Feli, ve cannot. You must heal, I have," The stong man blushed brightly, "Well, I have never..." Ludwig just couldn't bring himself to utter the words required to express that he had never laid with another man before. He didn't know if Feliciano had or not. "But I know it vill not be...easy on your heart." He finished.

Feliciano turned to kiss Ludwig's palm lightly and then dropped his head to lay against the inside of the German's thigh, never breaking contact with his love's sky blue eyes.

The Italian knew the cause was not yet lost as he recognized the unmistakable longing in those eyes. He scooted closer to the buttoned fly of Ludwig's pants. "Veh~ There are other things we can do. Please let me show you how much I love you?"

With the petite brunette's next move, the tall blonde was rendered incoherent, letting out a sound akin to "mmph."

Feliciano's nimble fingers were undoing each button on the fly of Ludwig's slacks; He let his lashes hang low as he looked back up to find the German's brows knitted together; his loves face clearly torn between pleasure and anguish. Feliciano could see Ludwig's tight hold on his self control slipping. He had only to push it over the edge.

_Was was that word..._The Italian racked his mind as he kissed each button softly as loosed each one from it's hole; finally reaching the last one. _Oh, that was it! _Felicaino thought triumphantly as he remembered.

"Bitte?" The Italian knew his accent would probably make it sound all wrong, but he tried to accentuate as Ludwig did, as he whispered the German word for 'please'.

From his place between Ludwig's thighs Feliciano smiled as he was rewarded with a gasp from the man above and as Ludwig gulped and his bright eyes widened, he again bent down to draw his Italian love into a deep kiss. As their lips parted after a moment, the larger man ran his hand through his lover's mahogany hair twirling around the familiar curl.

"Ja" the blonde finally agreed.

Feliciano slowly released that final button and reaching a hand inside Ludwig's pants, he popped the button on the flap of the German's crisp white boxers and freed his already nearly hardened shaft.

Ludwig watched Feliciano take his cock in hand for the first time, his clear blue eyes enraptured.

"Veh~" Feliciano sighed in appreciation letting his caramel eyes wander from Ludwig's impressive member to his face which was flushed with embarrassment and anticipation. Feli smiled encouragingly and without breaking eye contact, lowered his tongue to the base of Ludwig's shaft and trailed an experimental first lick along his length ending by circling his tip. He felt the German's cock instantly come to full hardness at the touch of his tongue.

Feliciano's eyes were so rarely fully opened that the intensity of the prolonged eye contact was enough the send flames fluttering down Ludwig's chest to consume the taught flesh in Feliciano's hands.

This was his boss, this was the head of the notorious Vargas family...and he was here on his knees preparing to pleasure his German capo.

It was both terrifying and arousing.

The baby faced Italian was torturing him, rubbing the sides of his cock with his soft cheeks and gracing his aching flesh with warm breath and the soft touch of fingertips.

_Gott_ ,it was heaven but Ludwig longed to feel the inside of Feliciano's mouth. He wished the petite Italian would stop teasing him with soft touches and gentle kisses. He longed to knot his large hands in Feliciano's silken hair and press his way past his pink lips and down into his throat thrusting as he liked, but he knew he could not. Not yet. Tonight his little love would have control but perhaps one day when they were more acquainted as lovers...

"Unbutton your shirt for me" Feliciano crooned "I want to look at your beautiful muscles while I work."

To emphasize his point he slipped the tip of Ludwig's cock into his mouth and with each button the German undid he slipped it farther in, urging him on.

Feliciano may not have had much experience with men, but he knew how to feign confidence. It was a necessary part of his job.

He loved Ludwig's muscular chest. He loved the way the soft light of the room cast shadows over his defined abdominals and highlighted his perfectly flat stomach.

He knew Ludwig had been working hard all day. Working hard for him and now he would be rewarded.

Feliciano began to move his hand in time with his mouth. He sucked, licked and caressed his German lover's cock.

Ludwig made few movements or sounds of appreciation but Feliciano could tell he was loosing his composure from the sweat that clouded on his brow, from the haze in his blue eyes that watched every movement his Italian love made, and from the hitch in his breath.

Feliciano reached his free hand into Ludwig's pants and began to caress his balls. They were heavy and warm and evidently a weak spot as when Feliciano began to massage them Ludwig finally let his lips part for a moan.

Delighted by this, Feliciano increased his speed and force.

The petite brunette's jaw was growing sore and his arm was tired from the unusual exertion but his love for Ludwig gave him his resolve to continue faster and harder than before.

When he could tell Ludwig was close to finishing he pulled back just long enough to whisper, trying out his lover's language for the second time, "Come for me, mein liebe?" before pushing back down on his cock deeper than ever before. He knew that soon he would taste his lover's seed for the first time.

Ludwig gasped and let his eyes close and his head fall backwards. "Feli! I am..." He cried as he spilled himself inside the Italian's mouth.

His heart was racing and the feeling of Feliciano swallowing around him was one he would never forget. Nor would he forget the sight of the beautiful young brunette clearing a stray droplet of ejaculate from the side of his mouth with his tongue.

With all the dexterity of a cat, Feliciano seemed to glide up Ludwig's legs and into his lap. Before the German could blink his petite love and nestled himself against his hard chest and wound his arms around Ludwig's neck. Small, tired hands playing with his now unkempt blond hair.

"Veh~ Ludwig, was I good?"

The clouds had not entirely left Ludwig's head and the heat was only slowly beginning to leave his body but he smiled and pressed a kiss against Feliciano's forehead and said with certainty

"Ja, Feli. Ja."

…

As Ludwig wrapped his love in his arms and the two men cuddled in silence, each hearing only the beating of the other's heart or the sound of the other breathing, the wheels were still turning in the machine that was Feliciano's organization. This business never really had days off and uptown, Elizaveta slammed the door behind her as she shrugged off her long black coat.

The music flowing from the parlor stopped abruptly and she walked in to see her dark haired husband turning to face her from his seat at the piano. It was where she always could find him after he returned from work. She sighed softly. Maybe she needed an outlet for her stress as well…

"Elizaveta? Is something the matter?" He asked, taking her hand in his as she approached.

The Hungarian tossed her long chestnut hair over a shoulder and looked down at her husband.

"Oh, Roderich," she began, the frustration clear in her voice. "I was following Gilbert and I know he was on his way to meet with the agent's brother because he was being very evasive." Her eyes squinted in anger as she continued, "But I lost him!"

Her Austrian husband pulled her down to join him on the bench and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"Just a minor set back, Geliebte. You already know where Agent Jones' apartment is, its only a matter of time before you can catch his brother there alone." Roderich smiled down at Elizaveta who begrudgingly agreed and leaned further into her husband's chest.

Suddenly an idea came to the Austrian and he turned to face his wife, taking both her hands again in his. "How would you like some dobostorte? I made it when I got home earlier."

Roderich got the reaction he had hoped for as his Hungarian wife smiled broadly at the mention of the well loved chocolate and caramel cream cake which was a favorite dessert in both their homelands.

"Mmmm. That sounds fantastic Roderich!" Elizaveta beamed, continuing, "And you are right, I'll simply be more vigilant. We'll get him soon."

Her husband stood, and arm in arm they entered the kitchen.

At that particular moment in Chicago, several things were happening at once across the city. The capo embraced his boss; the professor made his way home to his brother, who was currently pacing his apartment; and the two assassins were in their kitchen- the husband consoling his wife with cake. Meanwhile across the world, the once aristocratic revolutionary bought a postcard from the attendant in a drafty train station in Czechoslovakia.

Ivan wrote as quickly as he could on the back of the postcard. He knew his written English wasn't as good as his spoken but he didn't have long before the train left the station. This was the only stop he had on the way to Paris.

Hearing the whistle sound, he dropped the card into the outgoing mail slot beside the cashier's window and hurried to regain his seat. He needn't have rushed however, as the crowd parted for him as soon as they saw him. While it was beneficial now, he would have to change from his military long coat and officer's cap before arriving in France.

Once he was again aboard the train, the Russian removed his hat and leaned back against the seat. He stared out the window as the train picked up speed leaving the station. The surroundings whipped past in a blur and it seemed to echo his mind.

Ivan ran a hand through his pale hair and sighed heavily. What he was doing was very dangerous. He had been denied permission to go to America. He had only just barely been granted an exit visa to travel to France. He had promised to cultivate more spies in the western country. There were many soviet sympathizers in Paris and so it had been a perfect cover, however, it was one that would crumble at the first instance of scrutiny.

Ivan had no intention of staying even a single night in Paris, and instead had taken all the savings he had with him and intended to board the first plane going to the United States. It was true he did intend to see his sisters, and to try to convince Natalya to return to Belarus where she could put her energy into the cause…but Ivan knew he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that the main reason he was going was because even the last two nights spent without Alfred beside him had been unbearable.

Violet eyes gazed down at the emblem on the hat he twirled in his hands. He loved his motherland; Russia…he certainly did not intend to stay away…but he also had realized he wanted more than just the weekend he had had with the infuriating yet intoxicating American.

The love they had shared would be forbidden in either man's nation, but that was the least of Ivan's worries. He had come to terms with the fact that he needed Alfred; however, he harbored no illusions that he could change the agent's ideology, and he knew his would not waver either. What did he hope to accomplish by going to America, and at such a risk?

Selfishness. Ivan knew that was all it could be. He simply had to see Alfred again. How long he would be able to stay in America before someone noticed he wasn't in Paris he didn't know. How he could hope to entertain thoughts of any kind of a lasting relationship with the staunch capitalist he didn't know either. Alfred would never defect, and neither would he.

Ivan's lips turned down in a slight frown, his eyes burned like lavender fire. Though all logic fought him, he had gone through with his suicidal plan, and here he was, lying to his superiors, in love with a bourgeois American.

The tall Russian stopped twirling his cap in his hands and violet eyes widened as his own thoughts clarified in his mind. In love? Dear God, love, was that true?

He thought about the last few nights they had shared; his mind wandered back to the past, when he had first met the American. Ivan had been a captain in the Imperial army then, before the revolution…

His pale violet eyes stared at the compartment wall ahead of him unseeing. His mind drifted back to that time during the Great War instead. Alfred had been a fighter pilot and Ivan had first met him when his plane had gone down over the battlefield in 1917. It had been precious days before the revolution and his return to Russia…

Ivan's heart constricted in his chest as he remembered clearly the dazed and bloodied American as he had staggered away from the wreckage. It had been miraculous that he had lived at all. Ivan had rushed him to the nearby medic's tent and though Alfred's memory of their meeting had never returned fully, he smiled over the reminiscence knowing that though they had barely spoken, the American had looked at him with the same longing. He didn't know how, when men of their kind were so rare, but they'd recognized their mutual need instantly.

Even in such dire circumstances the dauntless American had managed to give Ivan a particular smile that had sent blood rushing to the Russian's cheeks. Back then he thought he was imagining things. He thought it was his pent up desires playing tricks on his mind, that the American was simply trying to wordlessly express his thanks, but he now knew the feeling in his gut had not been lying. The smile from across the field as the pilot stood with his friends had been saying he wanted him too. The lonely, battle worn look in his blue eyes had been looking for companionship and aching to know Ivan just as much as Ivan had wanted to know him. Now, after these long three years, they had their chance."

Slowly Ivan came back to the present.

He dropped his head into his hands, still holding the cap denoting his place in the Red Army. Love. That was it; the beautiful American man would be his death.

_End of CH 8. _

_I hope it was enjoyable and that the length made up for the long wait! _

_I don't think I introduced too much new language bits in this one, _

"_Geliebte" = True love, darling, dearest, that sort of thing._

"_Per favore, il mio amore?" = Please my love?_

_And dobostorte is a chocolate and caramel buttercream layered cake created by a Hungarian chef during the era of the austrio-hungarian empire and much beloved in both countries still._

_Um, I'm sleepy and have a bachelorette party to be at tomorrow, like 5 hours away, so I have to sleep now! XD so, if you see any other foreign language bits I missed just ask!_

_OH- and before I let you go: My "Prussia" came up with a very ~awesome~ pun. I have to therefore share it here with you all. You have been warned! XD_

_Q: What do you get when America, Canada, and Russia share fluids?_

…_._

_A: The Bering gay!_

_Hahahaha- Geography! _

_(Just in case you don't get it don't feel bad, some of the schools here (in the US) aren't all that spiffy. The Bering Stait….Straight.)_

_Yeaaah you know you giggled at the image of that threesome!_

_Now on that note, Goodnight all! Ch 9 gets even more action packed I promise_


	9. Chapter 9

_Well, dear readers, this is quite a long chapter! I just had soooo much to fit in one day, I hope you don't mind the length! Rated M for sure in this one for lots of loving! And my dearest fellow Ger/Ita fans, you are rewarded for your patience! (oh yes.) Ah, mobstery violence and sexy lovey moments! That's this chapter all over! Thank you again to everyone who reads this and especially to those who review! I love ya! _

_Thank you also to my sis, Abbygreeneyes for her expert help with the delicious smutty bits _

_OH- AND I HAVE PASSED THE NOVEL LENGTH! Its Just Business is now officially a novel – we're at 65,307 words and not half way done. Wow. A freaking novel. _

_Now…From sunrise to sunset, in one day… Enjoy Chapter 9!_

December 18th, 1920 – 2 days later.

"Mmmm…" Elizaveta rubbed her eyes and rolled over in bed. Sitting up in the still dark of the early hours of pre-dawn, she bent to lay a kiss to her husband's forehead as the dark haired Austrian slept. It was rare that she was awake before Roderich, but she was taking this assignment personally. She slipped from the elegant cherry sleigh bed without waking him and made her way to the shower.

After showering, the brunette stood in their spacious walk in closet and selected her clothes for the day. A knee-length olive green dropped waist dress with a leather belt that hung just along her hips and her nicest brown leather lace up boots. Being an assassin by trade, she relished the freer styles of the twenties. Those ridiculously confining outfits of the 1910's had been such a pain. The killer twirled girlishly in her closet after dressing as she thought about her assignment. She had convinced Roderich to trade her jobs for the day and she would be watching the agent's apartment instead.

She threw on a deep brown coat and concealed her pistol beneath it. _Yes, I will be the one to take Jones's brother from him. _She looked back at her sleeping husband as she closed the bedroom door. The time she had spent without Roderich while he was in prison had hardened her even more. Hopefully Jones wouldn't agree to bargain with the Italians but would attempt a rescue himself. She smiled as she left the estate, thinking how good it would feel to take out the agent personally.

…..

As the sun rose over Chicago, it was already high in the late morning sky across Eastern Europe. The brunette Lithuanian stepped carefully down the steps of the airplane, glad to be home. He had lost a lot of blood, and it still hurt to breathe, but he would always be thankful to Katyusha and the Englishman for saving his life. Had she not ran to his aid when she did, had the British dealer not also been a doctor, Toris was certain he would've died.

He looked up as a friendly voice called to him from the airport.

"Liet!" The blonde running forward called him by the nickname he always did. The brunette smiled and waved to his dear friend as his foot left the last stair. "Hi Feliks."

Feliks stopped just short of pulling his Lithuanian friend into a tight hug, and instead took the brunette's bags from him and linked their arms together, steering Toris toward the airport.

"I still, like don't get why you even like, care about that Belarussian anyway – I guess you can totally like, see her true colors now, huh?"

"Oh, I don't know…Natalya's just…" Toris began to defend her but was cut off by his polish friend.

"Oh c'mon, like open your eyes, Liet! She like totally has a weird thing for her brother! You ask me they are both like completely crazy!" The blonde turned to look the brunette in the eyes. "Like, seriously, what does she have that I don't?" He pouted and continued, "Don't you have like, way more fun with me?"

The Lithuanian smiled at his friend.

Feliks slipped his arm out of the crook of Toris' and clasped the Lithuanian's hand as he pulled him forward. "Now, like, seriously, you can't like recover in style in this place! I'm like totally taking you to Polska with me!"

While the two men drove west across the border on their way to Warsaw, Ivan Braginski was traveling west as well. The Russian leaned against the window of the plane looking down at the Atlantic Ocean below him.

…

He'd never flown before. Ivan smiled slightly. The view of soft ethereal clouds and the bright blue ocean below was amazing. This was a view his American had seen many times. Ivan wondered if Alfred missed the sky. He supposed the American had the opportunity to fly for work purposes, but he must miss being the one at the controls.

Ivan supposed he missed riding; one couldn't keep a horse in a small state apartment in Moscow. The Russian hadn't given himself much time to think on it; he'd been too busy with fighting the counter-revolutionaries and then working within the bureaucracy of the new regime to think about the pleasant moments in his life. As an officer in both the Tsar's imperial army and the Bolshevik red army, as well as during his privileged childhood, Ivan had enjoyed the feeling of the wind rushing past as he rode horseback. He did miss it, being cooped up in the capital.

Violet eyes closed on the view outside as Ivan played with the edges of his scarf and dreamed of flying through the sky with Alfred. The dream-Alfred was carefree and laughed while steering through the clouds. The wind blew past faster than it ever had on horseback.

Ivan was brought out of his daydream by the stewardess. The young woman smiled down at him from the aisle and asked him something in French. It took a moment, but the Russian put together her words. She had asked if he wanted something to drink. He tried not to hate her for stealing him away from the dream-Alfred.

Instead, he shook his head. "Nyet. Er, Merci, non." The foreign words felt strange on his tongue and he knew he'd done the 'r' wrong. English had actually come easier for him.

She smiled down at him and spoke in Russian, "Ya ooznal nekotori roosski v ooniversiteteh." _She had learned some Russian at her university!_ He thought overjoyed. Her accent was as obvious as Ivan knew his had been but he was thankful to be able to speak his own language.

Leaning forward in his seat, the tall Russian asked her how long it would be before they landed in Chicago.

The crisp young woman looked to her watch and then replied. "Pyot Chahsov." She grinned, clearly glad for the opportunity to practice on an actual Russian.

Ivan thanked her as she continued down the aisle. Five hours was too long. Impatiently he returned his attention to the view of the ocean outside. The seemingly endless blue waves reminding him of bright blue eyes.

…..

Back in Chicago, the BOI agent had left for work, and taken his brother with him. Unknowingly they walked past the fuming Hungarian assassin in the shadowed alley across from the apartment building. Lizzie kicked at a stray can in the alley. Damn that Romano and his 'no witnesses' rule. She'd gladly make sure there were no witnesses…if only the Vargas brothers didn't want to try to persuade Agent Jones first.

_No problem_, the assassin thought to herself as she left for coffee. _I'll just come back this evening; the brother will be alone at some point… _

…_.._

While Alfred worked and his brother sat in his office adjusting the syllabus for the next semester, the tall German capo knocked on Don Vargas's door. He hated to bring his love bad news, especially so early in the day.

The door opened to reveal the petite mob boss who instantly grabbed hold of his capo's lapels to pull the broad German into the room. "Ludwig! I hate when you have to leave at night, even for just a little bit!" The smaller man stepped up on his tip toes to kiss his capo who returned the kiss passionately, wrapping strong arms around the smaller man.

After breaking from the kiss, the Italian pulled back, and standing once more at his own height, he quickly unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged the garment off to fall to the crimson carpet. The bandages were gone.

"Look Ludwig!" Feliciano ran petite fingers across the scar above his heart and looked up at the taller blonde from beneath his lashes. "I'm all better…"

The German's blue eyes widened and he felt suddenly far too hot for having just come in from the December weather.

Ludwig stood there at a loss for words, his eyes held captive by Feli's bare chest, his catholic lover's crucifix reflecting the morning sunlight with a flash of gold.

The heat only increased when the shorter man moved back in against his chest. Ludwig ran one hand along Feliciano's slender back; the other found its way through the silky brown hair to twirl the stray curl.

"Veh~" The Mafioso sighed into his capo's broad chest.

Ludwig took a deep breathe and looked down his chest into Feliciano's eyes. The Italian was gazing up at him with the same longing he was feeling. Could it be that now was their chance? The chance to do what Ludwig was both exceptionally nervous and overwhelmingly excited to do? To take his petite boss to bed and throw society's expectations of men out the window?

_Oh gott! He was so unprepared!_ Ludwig held Feliciano to him as he attempted to calm his heart, his mind a blank.

It took the German a moment to come back to reality. _You have vork to do Ludwig! _The blonde mentally scolded himself, trying to remember what was so important….

But before the thought formed fully in his mind, Feliciano had reached up and flung his arms around Ludwig's neck, pulling himself up to his German lover's height. The Italian pressed his lips lightly against the taller man's neck and whispered. "Veh~ why don't we take the day off Amore?"

Feliciano's words were a catalyst that made Ludwig's mind start working again. Though his heart continued to resist, Ludwig shook his head and pushed his petite Mafioso away from his chest reluctantly. He had to regain order over his body, which was proving more difficult than he expected. The tall blonde held the smaller brunette by his bare shoulders and spoke seriously. "Feliciano. I have some upsetting news."

"Veh~?" The Italian pouted. "What is it?"

As Ludwig spoke Feliciano's baby-face darkened.

"Unfortunately Feli, the other families have heard about our Belarussian troubles. Two of the four other families have decided to lose their minds and think they can actually take you down." The capo brought a hand to cup the side of his boss's face and bent to look into the now downcast caramel eyes. He knew this wasn't the morning Feliciano had had in mind.

"I don't think there vill be a problem…" The blonde's blue eyes were icy and his brow furrowed in determination. "I vill see to it that no one moves against you. I vill remind them of their place."

The Italian perked up immediately and broke from his strong German's hold to rush into his chest again; small hands finding a home in each of Ludwig's back pockets.

"Oh Ludwig, I know you will! You always get things done for me!" Feliciano smiled up at his capo. "But after…" The brown eyed man batted long lashes and sighed before continuing, "I want to work for you as hard as you do for me!"

Ludwig was at a loss for words as his heart beat thundered in his ears. He was vaguely aware of a mumbled, "ja…after."

The disciplined German shook his head to focus his thoughts again. He lifted the petite Italian to kiss him deeply before he had to excuse himself for fear of losing control.

Lowering Feliciano to the ground, Ludwig spoke rapidly, aware of how flushed his face had become at the prospect of actually being able to act on the desires that had so nearly undone them a few nights ago.

"I vill leave now to take swift action against your rivals." He reached for the door but was stopped by the Italian's hand on his own.

"Let's meet for pizza later…and then we can come back here to…" Feli winked up at his love and continued a hopeful smile across his face. "…discuss our next moves."

"Ja." Ludwig nodded and turned toward the door.

The small brunette clearly didn't want him to go, but this was lost on Ludwig who was currently thinking he really needed to shoot someone to regain his focus before he could properly return to Feliciano with any kind of plan for the evening.

The Italian jumped up to kiss him on the cheek as the German opened the door.

"Ti amo!"

Ja...ti amo auch…" Ludwig mumbled not even aware that what he had just spoken didn't exactly make sense.

As the door closed behind the tall blonde, Feliciano bent to pick up his shirt from the floor and pouted as he rebuttoned it.

Oh course Ludwig was right to focus on the business. Keeping an eye on the other families, who were always the real rivals, had to take precedence over everything else. The petite Mafioso thought to himself as he walked to the balcony doors to look out at the skyline of his city.

"Veh~" he sighed. There had been other boys back in his highschool days in Italy who Feliciano had fooled around with but he had never gone, well….all the way with any of them. Regardless, he had wanted nothing more than to welcome Ludwig into his bed.

Feliciano was used to getting what he wanted, and so hadn't really thought about what would happen when he got it.

The slender Italian fiddled with the handle on the glass door to the balcony still gazing out at the city below. His thoughts couldn't have been further away from the skyscrapers reaching into the clouds outside. Feliciano bit at his lip lightly as he thought back to the night before…

His heart beat quickened and his cheeks flushed pink happily recalling his love's reaction to his ministrations last night. He'd succeeded in seeing Ludwig lose his composure twice now. The brunette smiled. And, if his wound hadn't started bleeding that night earlier in the week, Feliciano knew they would have explored each other in ways neither had ever done before.

Suddenly his smile dropped. The petite mob boss thought about how tall and broad his capo was; how well endowed the German was. Feliciano rubbed a hand along his slender jaw absent mindedly. "Veh~"

He had loved every moment, especially looking up to see his capo's disheveled blonde hair and his pale blue eyes over bright. However, he had to admit pleasing Ludwig in that way had been a lot of work. Though he knew his disciplined lover was loosening up because he'd not even argued at all when Feliciano had offered again last night.

For the past two days, it had felt like the duties of the day passed by too slowly, and no matter how important each task was, all things paled in comparison to hearing Ludwig knock at his door in the evening. _If only he didn't have to leave again…if only we didn't have to keep up a cover!" _The Mafioso sighed and turned away from the glass doors and the view of his suddenly cold and unforgiving city.

He had things to do; a few favours to call in that required his presence personally.

Feliciano stood in front of the full length mirror in his bedroom as he slipped on the rest of his attire; he'd decided to wear a light grey pinstriped suit today. He buttoned and unbuttoned his jacket, finally deciding on unbuttoned. It gave the effect of being serious, but not too stuffy. Plus, he knew he looked nice in a vest. As a younger made man in his grandfather's employ he'd usually just worn his slacks, shirt, and vest, disregarding the third piece in the customary 'three piece suit' a boss was expected to wear. Oh well, it was cold anyway. Taking in his reflection, the petite Italian was struck again by the thought of how much larger his German lover was.

While Ludwig's height and breadth of shoulders definitely brought a welcome flush to Feliciano's face, and his heart beat furiously as he recalled his lover's ample dimensions elsewhere, he worried…

"Veh~" The brunette sighed as he slipped his arms into his long black winter coat and stowed his weapon within. _But I am just so small…_ Feliciano thought to himself.

He really didn't know much about what he was supposed to do. While he was inexperienced, Feliciano wasn't so inept as to have no idea as to what went where, but he really wasn't sure how well it was going to work with such a size difference. He blushed deeply, and was glad none of his men were around to wonder at their boss's thoughts. It certainly wasn't that he didn't want to do it…he very, very much did; the trouble was that if he was really honest with himself, well, he didn't want it to hurt.

Feliciano stood in front of the door, his hand on the knob, lost in thought.

What he really needed was someone experienced in these matters who could give him advice. But who could he go to? No one could know about he and Ludwig, or his whole organization would be in jeopardy, not to mention their lives…

Caramel eyes lit up suddenly and a wide smile grew quickly across Feliciano's face. He knew just who he could talk to.

The don quickly turned the doorknob and skipped down the hall to the elevator. It would be too early now, but he could definitely stop in after his business was taken care of for the day. Yes, he knew just where to go.

Hours later, after the sun had risen, hit its peak, and begun head toward the horizon again, Feliciano bid his guards and lackeys good day, assuring them that he was the boss and if he wanted some time to himself, he'd get it. One way or another.

The petite Mafioso nodded to the man at the door as he entered through the bright yellow door to the club. As the crowd, made up predominantly of those on the other side of the law, recognized him and parted ways, Feliciano looked to the bar and found the man he needed to chat with.

…

The pale German with the tiny yellow chick comfortably nestled on his shoulder was leaning onto the bar pouring a refill of blanc-cassis for a tired looking blonde at the counter.

As the French singer took a long draught of the cocktail, Gilbert took a moment's break, noticing that all his patrons seemed to be in good shape.

He liked to know a little about all his entertainers, and so struck up a conversation with the French crooner.

"You know, you've really brought the people in! Tonight should be a busy one, you ready for it? My club's pretty packed on Saturdays!" Gilbert grinned.

"Oh, oui, I'm ready for it, the more ladies," Francis brushed his hair away from his face and flashed blue eyes at him, "and gentleman" he winked before continuing, the more tips in my jar, no?"

The albino bartender leaned back ignoring the wink. "Good way to look at it! I bet you make an awesome haul!"

The pale haired man turned to look to the clock on the wall behind him. Damn! He didn't have much time left! He'd agreed to meet Mathew at a new coffee house, so new they probably didn't pay protection to the Vargas's yet, but he had really started to dislike the idea of Mathew walking on his own, in the dark…downtown. Plus, his motorcycle was finally out of the shop, and Gilbert was just dying to show it off. He knew he looked pretty damn impressive on it.

Wait…was the singer saying something to him? "Huh?" He turned his attention back to the Frenchman.

Francis looked somewhat affronted. "I said," He restated his question, "What are you doing tonight, handsome?" The blonde flashed a sparkling grin that had probably won and broken hearts all over Paris.

Gilbert had to admit it was a pretty alluring smile. But at that admission, his chest panged in a way he'd never felt before. He rubbed the space over his heart. "Damn heartburn…" Though his thoughts instantly went back to the clock and the minutes ticking away. He wanted to make sure he got to the apartment before Matt left it.

"I've got plans." He briskly answered, then noticing his singer's offended expression, Gilbert continued, quickly changing topics. "So, what brings you to Chicago? Mein bruder dragged me here." Of course, thinking about the situation back home in Germany, he really owed Ludwig a thank you note for being in the mafia. Not that that was going to happen.

The Frenchman's face unexpectedly darkened. He turned blue eyes on the pale pink liquid in his glass as he ran a finger along the rim.

"I am here in Chicago on a mission. A mission of revenge."

Now that got his attention. Gilbert leaned back on the bar. "Really?"

"Oui. I have tracked a man, a peddler of poisons, from Paris to London, to Seattle, to Portland," The Frenchman looked up again, his face shadowed with murderous intent. "Now, I have followed him to Chicago."

Francis looked back into his cocktail and spoke to himself in French. "Je te trouverai monsieur Kirkland et je te tuerai"

Gilbert's red eyes widened. "Kirkland? British?" He laughed loudly as the crooner sat up straighter.

"You know him." A cold determined look flashed across the blonde's face.

"Oh, I know _of _him. I know he hangs around the Gold Star." Gilbert shrugged. He couldn't care one way or the other what happened to the guy.

"Ze Gold Star…" Francis once again looked into his glass.

"Yeah, you know the place? Well, I've really got to be going, have an awesome ni-" the pale man suddenly stopped midsentence, noticing the baby-faced Don that was making his way toward the bar.

"Veh~ Gilbert...Can I speak with you privately?" Feliciano leaned forward on the bar, looking decidedly nervous.

Instantly the German's thoughts went to his brother. Had something happened to him?

"Of course." Gilbert responded, in a hushed tone as he walked out from the side of the bar to lead the mob boss into the hidden hall behind a panel in the wall that led to his office. He lowered his voice further, "this wouldn't have anything to do with my little brother?

Feliciano suddenly blushed deeply. "Veh! You know?" He hung his head, "Of course... you do."

The white haired German relaxed visibly and clutching at his chest, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh _that_." He laughed boisterously. "You want to talk about _that_!" A wicked grin lit up the pale man's face.

Feliciano giggled nervously. "Um, well, veh~ I know you have some...experience that I don't…I mean, I really want to show Ludwig how much I love him..." The petite brunette looked up, eyes wide thinking suddenly about how glad he was not to know about Romano's sex life. "Oh, Veh! Is this too awkward, being his brother?"

Gilbert opened the door to his office and motioned Feliciano to a red leather couch. "Nothing is awkward for me. Besides, who knows West better, hmm?" He winked at the embarrassed Italian and laughed again. "Well I guess you will soon!"

Feliciano knew his face was as red as the couch he sat on. "Well, I...we would have" He inclined his head to get the point across before continuing. "but my injury.." The brunette looked down for a moment, but quickly cheered and said smiling, "But it's better now!"

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "So, the other day, I was able to Veh~ um, please him another way and um... veh~" Feliciano wasn't sure what to make of the albino beaming at him wickedly. He spoke up fully aware that he sounded slightly panicky in the attempt to just spit it all out. "He's just so big and I am just so small!"

The Mafioso hung his head. "I don't know what to do..."

_By the great Fritz, how could it get better? This was delightful!_ Still grinning a smile that could terrify anyone, Gilbert put an arm around Feliciano's shoulders.

"I'll let you in on a secret, when I was a boy the circus came through my home town and there was this midget bellydancer...I'll let you fill in the rest."

His grin didn't waver at all as he continued. "The point being, don't worry too much about size. Now, if Ludwig takes after me, you may have to worry about size in a way entirely unrelated to height, but I'm sure you can trust my brother. It will be up to him to make sure you are properly prepared."

The Italian sighed dramatically, "That's exactly what I'm worried about! Veh~!" He buried his head, and asked, "But he will? I don't need to worry about anything?"

He looked up through the mahogany brown hair covering his face. "Um..but how do I get him to loosen up, he's so protective...which I love, but Veh~" He cried out exasperated, "Ludi has such self control!"

'_Ludi.'_ Gilbert snickered. He considered it the height of consideration that he wasn't immediately rushing off to find Ludwig wherever he was, probably murdering some poor sap, and call him that. Instead he gave it some thought. After all, Gilbert assumed his uptight younger brother hadn't been with any men before, Hell, he wasn't sure he'd given much time to the women he had clearly made himself date when they were younger. Back then it had been "all school" now it was "all work" Maybe he really did need some help from his awesome older brother!

Gilbert patted his brother's boss and lover on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll make sure Ludwig knows what to do. As for getting him to loosen up...Well, didn't you do that successfully already?"

He laughed loudly again. "Just be persistent and bat those long lashes. You'll have him as putty in your hands"

Feliciano mumbled to himself thinking over how he'd gotten his stoic man to relax before. "So then I need to learn more German..." He smiled brightly up at the other man, and rose to leave. "Grazie Gilbert!"

As he followed the shorter brunette out and closed the door to his office before leaving through his secret back entrance, Gilbert chuckled to himself, and Gilbird flew up from where he'd been napping on the bartender's shoulder to circle his head chirping.

'so that's how he did it...'

Gilbert looked to his brand new wristwatch, a much better improvement on the pocket watch. Good, he could still just make it. Good thing he was a fast driver, even the fuzz couldn't catch him.

The sun was beginning to set as the Mafioso and the bartender left the Roost each traveling in different directions; one on his way to his favorite pizza place after stopping off at a local bookstore for a phrasebook, the other, leaving a package for his brother before speeding off to surprise his Canadian.

….

Blocks between the two men, Ivan was just stepping off the 'L' stop nearest the address Alfred had given him.

The American agent and his brother were inside the apartment a block down the street. Alfred paced as he re-read the post card he'd received early that morning. He grinned. Ivan clearly needed to work on his English writing skills…surely he hadn't meant exactly what he said…shrinking him.. really? Still, it was sweet…

_Dearest Alfred,_

_I am on my way to you. _

_My heart is in pain with each time we are apart._

_I wish I could shrink you so that I could carry you next to my heart and it will not hurt._

_I look forward to your eyes like the summer sky, until I see them my sky is grey only._

_If I could have your blue eyes with me always, sorrow would never find me._

_~ Ivan_

"Still re-reading that Al?" Mathew spoke up from the kitchen table where he had draped his jacket over one of the chairs. "If you ask me, it sounds a little creepy…You're sure about this guy?"

Alfred laughed, and finally set the card down on top of the radio beside the sofa. "He does say some strange things," He grinned over at his brother's slight frown. "But that's just his way! Maybe it's a Russian thing!"

The agent shrugged out of his suit jacket. "Ugh, I am so ready to get out of this suit!" He loosened his tie and begun unbuttoning his dress shirt as he walked down the hall toward his bedroom.

Mathew continued from where he leaned against the table. "Ok…if you're sure, I guess," He added under his breath, "It just seems like a Bolshevik is more dangerous than a bartender…and you practically have a fit if I bring up Gilbert…"

Mathew leaned against the table frowning slightly while Alfred stopped after unbuttoning his shirt and picked out a comfortable blue sweater with two bright red and white stripes across the chest.

Outside, the Russian climbed the iron stairs up to the second story of the apartment building.

Ivan held his coat and hat folded in the crook of one arm, while the other held his pack over his shoulder. The red star with hammer and sickle insignia printed on it had earned him quite a few stares on the way here…of course he'd stared right back and the American civilians had invariably looked away.

He reached the door more nervous than he wanted to be, what if Alfred hadn't felt the same way after the days apart…What if he'd gone against orders for nothing?

"Nyet" Ivan spoke aloud to himself. He would simply take his beautiful American in his arms as soon as he opened the door and remind Alfred how he'd felt that day on the battlefield and a few days ago in Moscow.

The tall Russian knocked on the door and adjusted the pack on his shoulder.

Inside, Mathew heard the knock and went to answer.

As soon as the door opened wide enough, the violet eyed Russian dropped everything he was carrying and scooped the blonde up in a tight embrace. Ivan captured the other man's lips in a passionate kiss, pushing his tongue into the surprised Canadian's mouth, which had gapped open in shock at being picked up so swiftly.

When Ivan broke the kiss, the blonde in his arms surprised him. "AL! HELP ME!"

Still holding the man who looked so like his lover in his strong arms, it took Ivan a moment to register what had been said. It was as Alfred ran around the corner of the hall, his tie undone and hanging around his neck, white shirt unbuttoned, holding a sweater in his hands, yelling "WHAT THE HELL – OH, Ivan!" that the Russian dropped his lover's brother.

Still in the doorway, Ivan turned toward the highly embarrassed Canadian. "My apologies…I did not know you were identical." He knelt to pick up his things from the porch, but before he could, Alfred ran toward him and nearly jumped into Ivan's arms.

The American agent kissed his Bolshevik lover exuberantly and the Russian returned his passion, lifting the slightly shorter man off his feet.

While the two men were entwined in the open doorway, clearly forgetting where they were, Mathew spoke up beside the couple. "You didn't tell him we were IDENTICAL?"

The Canadian's words went unheard as Ivan and Alfred kissed deeply lost in themselves.

"My god – Al, the neighbors!" Mathew finally succeeded in getting his brother's attention.

Alfred dropped the few inches to the floor as Ivan released him.

Somewhat sheepishly Alfred looked around and was relieved to see none of the neighbors at their windows. He hoisted the Russian's pack over his own shoulder as Ivan retrieved his coat and cap from the criss-crossed iron landing that was Alfred's porch.

"Seriously Al, you HAVE GOT to start telling people you have an IDENTICAL twin brother!" Mathew continued to berate his brother as the door closed.

Ivan still held his cap and great coat in his arms and looked quizzically at the young professor who stood with his arms crossed, frowning at his brother who was dropping his Russian love's pack on the sofa.

"Why do you call him 'Al'? Is it a diminutive of Alfred or does it have some other meaning?" Ivan asked laying his coat and hat over the pack.

Mathew blinked. "Oh, it's a nickname. I call him Al and he calls me Matt, and sometimes Mattie."

A wide smile flashed across the Russian's face. "Al…it is so cute! Can I call you that moi Americanski?"

"Always with the possessive stuff!" Alfred tried to be frustrated but was just happy to see the Russian again. "Yeah, I guess so…do you have a nickname, Ivan?"

"I do, but only those closest to me call me by it." The Russian pulled on the ends of the American's undone tie and brought him closer. "I would very much like you to call me by it." Violet eyes gleamed. "The nickname for Ivan is Vanya."

"That's weird, but I like it!" Alfred smiled and tried out the name. "Vanya."

Ivan's heart quickened at the sound. He tugged the agent closer into another deep kiss.

"Oh, really!" Mathew spoke up again from the table where he had retrieved his coat. The Canadian walked passed his brother and his Bolshevik beau to the door.

"I'm off to meet Gilbert – yes I have my gun!" The annoyed Canadian cut off his brother as Alfred had pulled away from Ivan's kiss to ask that very thing.

Releasing his American lover, the Russian held onto Alfred's open shirt loosely. He turned toward Mathew.

"I apologize again for the mistake earlier Mathew. Of course I see you are not the same. Your hair is longer and curls differently," Ivan looked down appreciatively at his American's bare chest and abdomen as he continued, "And the soldier's life has been good to you Al. You must run after criminals the way you chased the enemy through the sky!"

Alfred grinned, "Well, I do run a lot…"

His brother threw open the door and stepped out. "Oh my god!" Mathew half heartedly scolded his brother as he closed the door. Before the words were even off his tongue, they repeated themselves softer in Mathew's second language. "O, mon dieu…"

The white haired man below grinned radiantly up at him from his cherry red motorbike. "I know we were supposed to meet up – but I can't let you just walk Chicago's dangerous streets without my awesome protection!"

Gilbert patted the seat behind him and Mathew stepped down the stairs to climb aboard. As the Canadian's arms circled around him, Gilbert cracked a small grin, _Ah the effect of a motorcycle…why West drove anything else he'd never understand. _

While the capo's brother rode off with the agent's past the once again thwarted assassin, Alfred was entwined again in his Russian lover's arms; the sweater lay forgotten on the floor.

When they broke for air the American looped his arms around Ivan's neck and asked through hooded blue eyes, "So, why don't I take you out on the town? See the American dream in action?"

"Nyet…not just yet," The Russian ran his hands along his lovers back to rest at the agent's belt on his hips. He continued to move his hands toward the front to tug on the buckle. "I can see that here, da?"

"Mmm.." Alfred responded to Ivan unbuckling his belt by finally shrugging off the already unbuttoned shirt and reaching for the Russian's in turn.

Both men pulled the leather straps from their loops at the same time and the taller Russian pulled the American against him again as Alfred reached up under Ivan's warm wool sweater and wrapped his arms around the Russians broad back.

Mere inches from the same height; the American pulled the sweater over head. From experience during his nights in Moscow Alfred had learned how to do this without displacing his partner's ever present scarf.

Ivan nibbled on Alfred's earlobe while he wasted no time in unbuttoning the American's slacks. The Russian found his own suddenly far too restrictive at the feel of his lover's erection beneath enticingly soft cotton boxers. Ivan removed Alfred's pants, the American shimmying out of them, clearly as impatient at he was.

"Moi krasevee, silhnyee, americanski!" Ivan closed his violet eyes and breathed against Alfred's ear before kissing along the blonde's neck.

When the Russian got to his clavicle and bit lightly on the sensitive nerves beneath the thin skin of his neck, the American drew in a hiss followed by a sigh as Ivan kissed the spot and pulled Alfred tighter against his hips.

"Vanya…" The American sighed as he leaned into the Russian's neck.

Looking up from the blonde's neck, Ivan's eyes were vibrantly violet, and seemed to glow with intensity. "I love the sound of my name from your lips…Say it again moi miliy!"

Alfred didn't understand all of the words, but loved the way his Russian spoke. Looking into Ivan's violet eyes he knew his lover was just a flustered as he. The American pulled his partner into a passionate kiss; both men's tongues fighting for dominance.

Alfred pulled back from the kiss with a wicked grin on his flushed face. He reached for Ivan's fly and while still holding eye contact with the shockingly violet eyes, he began unbuttoning it.

"Vanya." Alfred breathed the name as his grin spread wider across his face.

"Alfred… which room is yours?" Ivan asked huskily as he grabbed hold of both dangling ends of the tie still draped loosely around the American's neck.

Still working the last button on the Russian's pants Alfred responded, "It's a one bedroom apartment…Vanya."

Ivan growled low in his throat and after snatching his pack quickly from the sofa with one hand, he yanked his American toward the hall. The pale haired Russian looked both directions and noticing a bed in one room, with a light still on he pulled his lover into it.

Once inside, Ivan dropped his bag beside the bed and again pulled Alfred to him, this time letting go of the tie, and lifting his American lover up to his waist.

_Could this reaction really all be because of a name?_ The blonde agent wondered as he wrapped his legs around the Bolshevik's waist and slid down slightly so he could reach one hand down to push the Russian's loosened pant from his hips.

"Moi Americanski, the nights were cold without you in my bed." Ivan whispered against Alfred's ear as he stepped from the cloth around his ankles.

Alfred's heart beat faster in his chest and he felt its speed mirrored in Ivan's as their bodies moved so close together, each able to feel the other's excitement through thin fabric. Full of the power he felt when he'd said his lover's nickname, Alfred spoke again.

"Were they?" He brought his lips to his Russian love's, but instead of kissing them he moved his lips against Ivan's and said again, "Vanya?"

The broad shouldered Russian crossed to the American's bed in one step and threw the blonde down onto it as he pulled those exquisitely soft white cotton boxers from his lover's body.

Ivan knew Alfred would most likely not know what he said in his mother tongue unless he told him; and therefore as the Russian revolutionary climbed atop the American agent and ran his hand down to grasp his love's hardened cock, he looked into the blue eyes clouded with need and told him exactly how he felt.

"Ya lubliu tebya, moi krasivee muzjik. Mnye vseh rahvno, yeslee ya oomru zavtra , yeslee ya mogu sdelat tebya segodnya vecherom!"

Alfred moaned and felt his knees go weak and his legs parted for his lover. He bucked up into the Russian's large hand. "Oh god..." He was past caring about his pride. "Oh god Vanya...I've missed you. I've missed your voice."

Still pressing himself desperately upward, Alfred cupped Ivan's strong chin and brought his lips to his own. He felt Ivan moan into his mouth as he filled it with his tongue. Lips tingling from the invasion, Alfred teased the underside of Ivan's warm tongue as he opened his mouth wider inviting him to press deeper inside. He felt Ivan's hand tighten around his cock as the Russian pressed his own erection against Alfred's own soft, muscular thigh and he knew this was only the overture.

The Russian pulled away to strip himself of his boxers and Alfred watched in appreciation as he revealed the large cock that paired itself so well with Ivan's broad build and tall stature.

He licked his lips, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by the happy Russian.

Leaning over Alfred he wrapped an arm around the American's waist and drew him close. Their cocks slid together, wet with precum. "Ah," Ivan groaned at the feeling of Alfred's warm, hard manhood grinding against his own and stimulating all his nerves. Their balls were soft and nestled against one another. The heat between them only increased as Ivan tightened his hold on Alfred's waist and began to grind himself against his slender, well built partner.

"moi muzhchina , tako'eĕ sihlnye ee nezhnyee..." He breathed into Alfred's ear.

"Oh! Oh!" Alfred lifted his hips and rubbed himself enthusiastically against the man above him. "You fucking...ugh...goddamn...son of a bitch...sexy Russian!" _'I don't even care that you're a communist!'_ Alfred thought as a guilty, unspoken afterthought.

Ivan purred and nuzzled against Alfred's neck. "I love it when you use such _virile_ language moi Americanski."

Alfred's attention meanwhile had been drawn to the large cock that was sliding across his own and onto his stomach.

He felt his mouth watering with a strange and unexpected desire. That length, that thick, heavy cock that had been inside him so many times in Moscow... He felt the sudden, uncontrollable urge to have it in his mouth to see just how much of it he could take in, to feel the weight of it on his tongue, to taste Ivan's precum which was currently smeared across his own stomach and penis.

"Vanya..." he teased knotting his hands in silvery locks and knowing damn well that what he was about to do would set the Russian off. He ground his hips against Ivan's own and locked his blue eyes with Ivan's violet. He employed the face he used to get Matthew to bring him pancakes in bed when he was too lazy to get up. His patented puppy dog eyes and flushed cheeks, guaranteed to get anything done.

"Ya frantsukaya potselooi tebya?" He accentuated his offer by pointing to himself, then Ivan and glancing downward.

Ivan choked. He actually choked on the air he was breathing. All right, so Alfred's Russian was far from perfect but he'd managed to get his meaning across quiet clearly and even if he was butchering Ivan's language he was completely okay with that in this context. And that look...he wasn't aware that his cocky, charismatic Americanski could be charming in quiet that way. He wasn't sure how he felt about it but he sure as hell knew how he felt about Alfred taking his shaft in hand and slowly gliding him down to rest against the pillows.

When he saw Alfred position himself between his legs and bend over to take him in his mouth, Ivan groaned and had to stop himself from forcing his way between Alfred's lips with a swift thrust.

He could not explain how long he had been waiting for this...

Alfred's mouth was hot and tight around his ample cock. He could tell his Americanski was having difficulty taking it all in and to be honest, the thought was as gratifying as the feeling of Alfred's silken tongue playing circles around his sensitive tip.

The former pilot's hand was warm and soft around the base of his cock, Ivan would have closed his eyes at the wonderful feeling of being welcomed so enthusiastically after such a long flight but he couldn't tear himself away from Alfred's blue eyes looking up at him from behind strands of golden hair. Alfred pumped Ivan's shaft with his hand and sucked his cheeks in to increase the pressure around Ivan's penis. His tongue danced wherever it could reach and Alfred's spare hand found Ivan's warm balls and began to play with them. Ivan arched his back and let his head slide against Alfred's headboard.

Al pulled back and smiled teasingly as he massaged the Russian's balls. "Do you like that, Vanya...?"

Ivan made a low growl "Lizhi yazykom!" and then, realizing Alfred could not understand he repeated in English much softer spoken "Lick it."

Alfred gave him a show, sticking out his pink tongue and gliding it slowly from the base to the tip.

Ivan's heart beat rapidly in his chest and he filled his hands with Alfred's golden hair. His mind drifted back to his thoughts on the way to America...

Love? Was he really in love? Was this how it struck? So fast, so thoughtlessly, so irrevocably?

As his cock disappeared inside Alfred's mouth to be enveloped by his heat the only answer in Ivan's mind was "Da!"

In spite of their ideological differences, in spite of the hopelessness of their future, Ivan was not a man who would lie to himself. He acknowledged his feelings for what they were and allowed himself to be lulled back into a mindless pleasure by Alfred's ministrations.

Minutes passed and Alfred increased his speed, careful not to choke himself on Ivan's girth, until he had the large Russian writhing against the headboard and arching into his every touch.

He muttered something unintelligible under his breath, his pale cheeks stained pink "ah sosi...huy ...augh...yeblia!" suddenly he put a hand on Alfred's shoulder and pushed him away "podozhdite! Stop!"

Suddenly without warning, Alfred found himself flipped onto his back and pinned beneath Ivan.

Alfred blinked and looked at him in surprise. Had he done something wrong?

Ivan leaned over him, one hand pressed against the headboard and propping himself up , the other sweeping sweat drenched silver locks out of his face. He took a moment to catch his breath before reassuring Alfred.

"It was wonderful. But all my thoughts coming here have been consumed by the desire to spill myself inside of you." He let one hand trail down Alfred's chest to grip his hip possessively and to accentuate his point. Alfred was too moved by the fire in Ivan's eyes and his own straining, burning need for release to protest just now.

Alfred laughed, flashing Ivan a smile full of pearly whites. He grabbed him by the scarf and dragged their faces closer together. "Well come on then, Ruski. What are you waiting for?"

Ivan smiled his small, unnerving smile. He may be worn out from his long travels but he would not allow Alfred's challenge to go unanswered.

He quickly rummaged in his bag for the lubrication he'd brought with him.

He placed one of Alfred's legs on each shoulder and nuzzled the American's calf as he slicked his fingers. Alfred gripped his own weeping cock and began to pleasure himself as Ivan impatiently inserted his first finger while rubbing his own hard member against Alfred's smooth thigh.

First there was the gentle massage of one finger, and then two working side by side to spread him for Ivan's thickness, and by the time there were three Alfred was in danger of spilling into his own hand as he strained to slide himself down on the fingers Ivan was fucking him with.

Ivan drew him out of his frenzy by planting a sharp, quick bite on his thigh.

"Those motions," He breathed his painful arousal plain in his voice "should be on my cock."

Alfred nodded, releasing his own erection and trying to focus through the clouds in his eyes. He drew himself up to rest his head on Ivan's shoulder while slowly massaging his back.

"You've had a long flight." He crooned. "Let me mount you."

Ivan could not deny the idea appealed to him...to think of resting his back against Alfred's fluffy pillows in their soft cotton cases and watching Alfred grind himself on his cock was...well, it was too much to turn down.

He let Alfred guide him until he was propped up against his headboard, soft pillows against his back.

He watched with rapt attention as Alfred straddled him and slowly, painlessly, lowered himself onto his cock.

"Ah! Moi Americanski..." He sighed joyfully "Your body has not forgotten me."

He pulled his knees up to give Alfred more support. Alfred wrapped an arm around Ivan's neck and pressed himself close against his broad muscular chest and, with eyes squeezed closed in pleasure, began to move himself up and down on the Russian's cock. It was heaven for both of them. For Ivan, it was the feeling of Alfred's soft, warm insides constricting around his painfully hard cock coaxing it towards release. For Alfred it was the feeling of Ivan's smooth, firm cock sliding against all the nerves inside of him and filling him so completely he knew he would always feel empty without it. He continued to stroke himself against the Russian's stomach and Ivan, confident that Alfred was well adjusted, Took his hips in hand and began to pump himself in and out causing Alfred to gasp at the heightened sensation.

"Ah, my Vanya~!" he cried watching the magic that both the diminutive and possessive worked on his Russian lover.

They were so close, so entwined, so enraptured in one another. Ivan buried his face in Alfred's golden hair.

"Ya labliu vashi zolotye volosi!" He murmured returning the favor of Alfred's sweet words, knowing how much the stubborn American agent loved it when he spoke in his native tongue even if he would never admit it.

Soon Ivan began to lose control. He'd been waiting so long. As he buried his nails against Alfred's hip bones and began a brutal pace, Alfred abandoned moving his hips entirely and slumped forward panting against Ivan's chest, jerking into his hand faster than he'd ever imagined just to keep up with the silver haired man impaling himself into him.

"Ah, ah, ah~ VANYA~!" He cried spilling himself all across Ivan's chest.

"Ah, vash golos!" Ivan cried, loving the sound of his name from Alfred's tongue. He followed soon behind his American lover, thrusting Alfred down hard to the base of his cock and shooting his hot seed hard and fast into his beloved.

After a moment of heavy breathing where both their legs seemed to have turned to jelly, Alfred rolled off of Ivan, collapsing onto the Russian's arm and pulling his sheets over them, not caring in the slightest that he would have to wash them tomorrow, he sighed and turned to his violet eyed lover with a contented smile.

"Ivan, that was amazing. I can't believe before you I never considered being on bottom!"

Why was he suddenly so jealous? Ivan hadn't expected the attractive flyboy wouldn't have previous partners… but all the same an instant hatred of anyone who had known his Americanski's love before washed over him.

"Of course… you have been with others." He said somewhat dejectedly. Turning on his side to face Alfred, drenched in sweat beside him, the Russian tried to hold in the mounting hatred of imagined faceless men, but knew it came out in his tone. "Who were they?" He asked the radiant American still grinning at him.

But as Alfred opened his mouth to reply Ivan cut him off as the full meaning of what his lover had said sunk in. Sitting up suddenly on his elbow, he reached his other hand to cup the blonde's chin. "Wait! Do you mean,… no one else has been inside you?"

The Russian's heart swelled with joy. _His Americanski…All his… _

Alfred laughed. "I thought you'd be able to tell!" He glanced down sheepishly. "I mean I'm not totally inexperienced, I had an…experience…during the war." Blue eyes looked back up into beloved violet ones. "But I topped and well, we were pretty drunk…" He laughed again. "I mean, he used his fingers…I guess he thought he'd top, but no matter how he said he could hold that booze he couldn't! Uh, so anyway, they weren't nearly the size of yours….uh" Alfred flushed pink and grinned.

"So you really couldn't tell?"

The jealous beast that had growled in Ivan's heart earlier was mollified by the sheer joy coursing through his veins. He brought his lover's lips to his own in a softer than usual kiss. He had had only a few lovers himself, being far too busy with the constant troubles at home and the incredible lack of opportunity to find a compatible man in soviet Russia. Of course he had always topped…

Ivan lay back against the soft sheets and pulled Alfred in against his shoulder.

"Moi Americanski…."

The American yawned and dropped a light hearted punch to the Russian's chest before leaning back against the broad shoulder.

"Always so possessive Vanya!"

…

While the Bolshevik held his American agent close, both men drifting off into a peaceful exhaustion, as the sun disappeared below the horizon, the capo watched for his boss's arrival from their usual table in the Italian's favorite pizza joint.

And there he was.

The Mafioso stepped out of his royal blue duesenburg model A and motioned for his driver to go on. The sight of his Italian love stepping off of the running board of the luxurious German designed automobile made Ludwig's heart melt. The December wind buffeted the petite Italian, who wrapped his double breasted winter coat close to his slender frame. Ludwig smiled as he stood to meet Feliciano at the door.

The brunette checked himself from embracing his blonde capo right away, instead, he managed to keep his control as he followed the tall German to the usual table against the wall.

Once seated, Feliciano smiled up at Ludwig. "How did the…meeting…go?" He asked as the waiter brought over the deep dished flaky Sicilian pizza Ludwig had already ordered. Feliciano grinned radiantly at his handsome capo.

"Veh! You always know my favorites!"

Ludwig smiled easily at his Italian love. "good." He replied, taking a piece of the pizza. "I helped them remember who is zheir boss." After taking a bite and washing it down with a drink from his glass of beer, Ludwig continued. "The heads of two certain families vill find that vith each limping step they take they vill be reminded of your name. That is if they are able to valk again."

Feliciano wanted so much to lean across the table and throw his arms around his hardworking capo and taste the German's lips. It was with difficulty that he kept himself from doing just that.

The two men continued instead to talk calmly about business as though that was all they were to eachother; business partners. Had anyone dared to look closely at the two men in the corner booth they might have noticed that with each glance, each slight smile, and the smallest of movements the couple held a different conversation than the one that could be heard.

As the pizza dwindled to crumbs, Ludwig felt Feliciano's foot on his own, sheltered in the shadows under the table. Looking up at his love, the German blushed involuntarily. The smaller brunette had boldly leaned into the crook of the wall where no one but Ludwig could see him and had lifted both eyebrows and tilted his head toward the door.

The capo's heart jumped to his throat. This was it. Tonight was the night. His mind was suddenly filled with only that thought.

It was as the two men stood from their table, and prepared to leave a tip, that it happened.

Ludwig turned toward the door instinctually as the bell dinged, though the sound itself held no threat. He was simply used to watching all entrances everywhere he and his Feliciano went. It was a good habit to have; that one glance was all the warning he had before the dagger flew past his head.

Natalya Arlovskaya stood in the doorway, a dozen of her men behind her.

She didn't speak, but ran forward toward them with her remaining weapon raised in her hand.

Both the boss and his capo had immediately pulled pistols from beneath their jackets and took aim. Feliciano took down one of the Belarussian men immediately and beamed at his German capo. Ludwig tried to return the smile, but was engaged in shooting at Arlovskaya, as the crazed woman zigg-zagged all over the place, finally ducking around a pillar.

The Belarussians must have been under the impression that close combat was the way to go, as two men pulled out knives of their own and came at Ludwig yelling in the foreign language. "Heta dlya pomstye!"

They were wrong.

As one man's blade grazed his arm, the German paid it no heed and grabbed hold of the man's light hazelnut hair to hold him in place as he leveled the barrel of his gun at the startled man's face and pulled the trigger.

Flecks of blood sprayed the other man behind him and in his daze the Belarussian never saw the Mafioso's bullet coming. He fell to a heap beside his fellow as Feliciano stood, beside the table, his gun still raised.

His love appeared to be holding his own, but Ludwig would not take his eyes off Feliciano again. He kept one eye on Feli at all times as he continued to pick off men around the pillar he had seen the Belarussian take refuge behind.

They were 2 against 9.

Then 2 against 8,

…2 against 6,

…2 against 3,

Feliciano took aim from his place behind an overturned table.

The other man fell, the blood pooling from around him to mix with that of his comrades.

…2 against 2.

The Belarussian woman and one of her men. Both had taken refuge behind the pillar in the center of the restaurant.

Ludwig looked to Feliciano and noticed his love had spent his last round. He flipped open the chamber of his own weapon and his blood cooled. One. He had one bullet left. That one bullet would be for the Belarussian woman, Natalya.

Ludwig dropped below the hail of gun fire the last man was shooting into the air to join Feliciano behind the table.

"Feli. I have one left. Stay here." Ludwig spared a glance around, and confident that all the other patrons had long since fled, and the proprietor was no where to be seen, The blonde took his love's petite jaw in his hand and tilted it to meet his lips in a desperate kiss.

Ludwig stood suddenly and just ducked the other man's bullet as he dropped to the ground beside the table and rolled just passed the bodies in the growing crimson pool, to a kneeling position next to the wall. Still holding his gun at the ready, the German counted the bullets he had ducked on his way to the wall and knew the other man would be reloading this very minute.

Ludwig ran forward, just as the man came from behind the pillar, fists raised. Apparently he wasn't the only one who had run out of bullets. The capo brought his own substantial fist to the Belarussian man's jaw in a swift uppercut, and then with a heavy punch to the gut, Natalya's remaining man doubled over in pain, spitting blood into the already soaked floor below.

He took Ludwig by surprise however, when he pulled a knife from his belt and straightened, holding his abdomen with one hand, slashing the air while advancing on the German.

The surprise didn't last long. His blue eyes were slits as Ludwig maneuvered around behind the other man, and gripped his wrist tightly forcing the Belarussian to drop his weapon.

Before he could finish off his adversary Ludwig's eyes widened in alarm at what he heard.

It was the scuffle of feet, the unmistakable sound of a struggle, and the words he didn't need to know to understand. "Scendere me!"

While Ludwig had paired off against her remaining man, somehow Natalya had gotten around behind Feliciano and now held, but barely, the struggling mafioso by the throat. The gleaming silver of the dagger in her hands far to close to his neck.

It seemed she had been waiting for Ludwig to turn.

She spoke in a heavily accented voice, her r's deep and rolling from her tongue. "Strong, brave soldier. How does it feel to fail your boss?"

She held the petite mob boss's arms behind his back, and as Feliciano was just coming close to breaking free, a string of angry Italian more usually heard coming from his brother issuing from his lips, Natalya grinned wickedly and pulled the knife back toward her across the Italian's slender throat.

His love hissed in pain and still struggled against the knife, attempting to elbow the deceptively strong woman holding him.

As the first tiny drops of blood slid down Feliciano's neck, Ludwig acted. He brought both hands up to swivel the neck of the man in his grip. The body fell at his feet and Ludwig took aim at the hated Belarussian.

As Ludwig squeezd the trigger, and the bullet left the barrel, Natalya let go of Feliciano and moved to get out of the way. Ludwig noted with grim satisfaction that though she managed to run from the wrecked restaurant alive, she had snagged the lacey hem of her skirt on the edge of the overturned table in front of her as she ran and his bullet may have not found the home Ludwig had intended it for, it pierced her through the shoulder.

Natalya made only a surprised gasp as she was hit and after stumbling over a few of her men had disappeared into the darkened alley outside.

Ludwig had no time to spare for her; he leapt over the bodies in between he and his love, and ran to Feliciano's side.

The smaller man was holding his hand to his neck, dark red blood trickling from between his fingers. The Belarussian hadn't succeeded in dragging her blade across his love's entire neck, but seeing the blood spill from the right side of his neck as Feliciano tried to staunch the flow with his palm made Ludwig's blood boil and run icy cold at the same instance.

He bolted back to the man he had just killed and ripped a piece of cloth from the deceased man's sleeve.

Rushing back to Feliciano, Ludwig pulled the small hand away from his neck and blotted at the wound with the ragged piece of shirt. The blood flow began to ease and Ludwig found he could breathe again. Feliciano took over holding the cloth to his neck.

"Feli..." He held his boss's free hand in his own, and dropped his forehead onto it and moaned in anguish. "I should have been beside you!"

"What do you mean, Ludwig?" The Italian whispered, afraid to put much stress on his throat until he knew the extent of his cut.

"You saved me. You saved my life again, amore." And then, leaning in to his capo's chest he continued, "Take me home."

Ludwig picked up Feliciano and dropped a wad of hundreds on the ruined counter for whenever the owner returned from the kitchen. The tall blonde then hastily made his way to his audi and once he and his love were inside, he started the ignition and stepped heavily on the gas.

Ludwig checked on Feliciano repeatedly as he drove. Each time, the Italian smiled up at him and assured him that he felt ok. Ludwig wanted to believe that, but the sight of his lover's blood staining the scrap of shirt held to his neck made the German's heart constrict in agony.

Ludwig turned a corner sharply. He would not be without extra bullets ever again. The blonde pulled into his driveway, noticing but not giving it much thought that his brother's motorcycle wasn't in his way.

He turned to his love in the passenger seat. "Feli, I vill never run out of bullets again. Never." He pulled the Italian close and again thankful for the forgiving darkness, capo captured his boss's soft lips in a heated kiss.

Feliciano sighed into Ludwig's kiss and reaching his free hand up to play with the small hairs at the back of his German lover's neck, he returned Ludwig's affection with gusto.

The two reluctantly broke for air after several minutes.

"I'll be right back mein liebe." Ludwig whispered breathlessly as he pulled away and left the car to hurriedly unlock his door.

Once inside, the tall German rushed toward the chest where he kept all his ammunition. Before he could open it he stopped. A tiny container with a note on top sat atop his ammunitions cache. Ludwig stopped to pick it up, immediately recognizing Gilbert's scrawling handwriting.

He was increasingly thankful Feliciano was waiting in the car for him. Ludwig's face flushed bright red as he read over the note his brother had left him.

_Bruder, I got a visit from your cute little Italian friend today and I gather you're going to need this. (Its lubrication, in case you don't know.) _

_I know you're an absolute prude but my good name is riding on your performance so um Gottes willen, use this and be gentle with the little thing! I'd really rather not be shot by a pissed off Mafioso with a torn sphincter. Of course if you need further advice, you know where to find me._

_- Your super awesome big brother, Gil_

"Mein Gott." Ludwig crumpled the note and covered his face with one hand. As though he'd be anything other than gentle; he was terrified of hurting his smaller love. Of course, he was, unfortunately, a bit inexperienced, having denied the truth about his sexuality for so long; though he would never admit it to Gilbert, he was thankful for what his brother had left him.

The broad German sighed in embarrassment and pocketed the lube before reloading his gun and adding a decent amount of ammunition to his pockets as well.

Ludwig took a deep breathe before opening the door to return to Feliciano in the car. He was determined to not let on that he knew Feli had gone to his brother. Of course Ludwig understood why, but all the same, he knew it would probably just embarrass Feliciano and only further his own embarrassment.

As the disciplined capo reinforced his control over his emotions, he willed his heart to slow its furious pace and for the pink flush to leave his cheeks. All he wanted to do now was get his love home as fast as possible and make sure he wouldn't need stitches.

In a record 10 minutes, Ludwig and Feliciano walked through the lobby of the Don's building, past the ever present retinue of made men hanging around the lounge.

Feliciano stepped quickly ahead of his tall capo following just a step behind. Passing the crowd of his men gathered in the lobby, he spoke with all the authority he could muster, while holding the piece of cloth to his neck.

"Attenzione!" He called out, stopping at the elevator. All eyes turned toward the petite boss. "Ludwig and I have much to plan; the Belarussian has made things personal. Do not disturb me all night. Capite?"

Ludwig's heart swelled each time he watched his innocent looking Italian address his men, and their unquestioning nods of agreement that followed.

Feliciano turned back to the elevator doors and pressed the button. It was already on the first floor and the doors slid open with a ding immediately.

As soon as the two men entered and the doors closed behind them, Feliciano leaned back against the wall and sighed. "Veh" Sometimes his position took a lot out of him.

His German capo was instantly at his side. "Feli, let me see that vound again." The Italian lowered his hand and the piece of torn shirt that had quickly been stained in blood.

Ludwig peered closely at the cut. Thankfully, it wasn't a deep one, and the bleeding seemed to already be stopping. "Good...it is not deep."

The capo drew his boss in close as the elevator continued its ascent.

"Ah, Feliciano, I vas afraid I might lose you again. That Belarussian vill learn to look over her shoulder for my shadow.

"Veh~ Ludwig, I don't really want to talk about that at all until tomorrow." Feliciano batted his lashes up at the taller man holding him. "Tonight I just want to..." he thought back to the chapter he'd flipped directly to in the phrasebook he'd just bought. "...Ich möchte zusammen

The blonde looking down at him laughed. He really let loose and laughed fully. Feliciano wasn't sure how he should take that.

"Oh, Feli.." Ludwig began as his laughter died off. "It's not "ich" like you have an ich, but "ikh" like when I say Ich liebe dich."

Though seeing his serious love smiling so easily made him want to smile in return, the small brunette pouted. "Well, I tried…" He grinned then, and just as the doors opened to his floor, the Mafioso pulled his still grinning capo from the elevator toward the door to his penthouse. "Is it my fault my language is the language of romance,"

Feliciano turned, his back against the door, he reached both arms up to wrap around Ludwig's neck as he pulled the tall German down to his height. "Il mio uomo forte e bello?" He grinned and kissed his love's cheek playfully while Ludwig had one arm wrapped around the smaller man, the other hand, twisting the door knob behind Feliciano's slender frame.

The brunette twisted his fingers in his love's blonde hair, freeing it to fall into blue eyes.

"Let me give you my love tonight. Bitte?"

As the door opened with a click, The broad blonde lifted his boss up into his arms and carried him into the penthouse.

Feliciano nuzzled into Ludwig and murmured, kissing along the German's neck. "I got bitte right, though didn't I, liebe?"

"Ja, you did." The taller man carried his love across the room, determinedly. Though he was intensely nervous, mostly because he was afraid to hurt the smaller man, Ludwig was possessed with a certain sense of fatalism. Maybe it was the fight that night, how close Feliciano had come to having his throat slit by that goddamn Arlovskaya, or the fact that only a week ago, he'd really nearly died from the Lithuanian's bullet, or that Ludwig had had to break a kneecap earlier that day to keep the other families in line, or simply that denying himself any further would be torturous.

It was probably all of that; since the night he realized he'd fallen in love, Ludwig had also realized he could never take things for granted. Men in Feliciano's place rarely lived long, happy lives, and honestly, could they expect to never be found out?

Rather than try to answer that question, the broad shouldered man nudged his lover's bedroom door open with an elbow as he carried the petite Italian in and trying to calm his heart, which was drumming a excruciating rythym against his ribs, Ludwig laid Feliciano down on the bed.

He shrugged off his coat and draped it over the bedside table, and by the time the blonde had turned back to the brunette on the plush bed, Feliciano had removed his own coat and suit jacket. Both lay discarded in a heap at the foot of the bed.

Ludwig raised an eyebrow at his love's quickness.

Feliciano smiled and reached out to take hold of Ludwig's belt. The Italian pulled the taller German to him on the bed and reaching up, began to unbutton Ludwig's shirt.

"Veh~" he sighed at the sight of his love's muscular chest and the soft, light blonde hairs that covered it.

Feli continued to pull on the belt as he began laying soft kisses across Ludwig's chest.

The blonde's legs seemed to work independently from his mind as they climbed atop the bed and he settled onto his knees, leaning over the brunette below. Feliciano continued to kiss down his chest toward his belt buckle and Ludwig felt like he was going to die.

The German capo ran a hand through his mafioso's smooth mahogany hair to twist Feliciano's signature curl around one finger.

The Italian gasped and looked up at his love with heavily lidded eyes. Feliciano wrapped his arms around Ludwig's broad back and pulled him down over him as he fell back against the mattress.

The brunette bit at his lip as the blonde held onto his hair. Small fingers fumbled with the buttons of his vest, but couldn't quite get them undone.

Ludwig blushed happily. He'd noticed Feliciano's reaction to his curl being touched before, but the look he now saw in his love's caramel eyes undid him thoroughly.

Still holding onto the curl, Ludwig took his petite Italian's lips in a passionate kiss. The blood rushed through him as his tongue slid past Feliciano's soft lips into his mouth to meet the Italian's which greeted the intrusion flirtatiously.

The smaller man below him arched his back bringing them closer together and sighed into Ludwig's kiss.

Reluctantly the blonde broke for air and released his lover's curl.

Feliciano sighed and fell back against the mattress panting, his fingers still fumbling with the buttons on his vest.

Ludwig's breathe caught in his throat while his heart continued to beat furiously. He felt the heat rise all over his body and could feel his now tenuous control slipping.

With a sound somewhat between a whine and a growl, the German took hold of the smaller man's vest and forcibly popped the buttons from their slitted holes. Faced with yet more buttons on the crisp pale blue dress shirt beneath, Ludwig practically ripped it open, knowing he had lost Feliciano more than a few buttons in the process.

The petite man beneath him gasped as his shirt was torn open and wrapping one arm around the larger man, Feliciano lifted himself somewhat from the mattress to shrug his arms out of the sleeves as he brought his lips once again to his strong German love's.

Thier lips still locked together, Ludwig again lowered Feliciano to the mattress. He reached into the brunette's hair again to find the familiar curl and loop it through his fingers.

The German's body thrilled each time his slender lover sighed, as he did now.

Breaking from the kiss and slowly releasing Feli's hair, Ludwig dropped his attention to the Italian's bare chest. He brushed his lover's gold crucifix aside to kiss softly at the scar that marked the time he had come too close to losing it all.

"Mmmm, mio amore..." Feliciano took hold of Ludwig's blonde locks and bucked up against him to bring their hips together.

Blue eyes closed tightly at the sensation of Feliciano's erection against his own. When he opened them to look into the half open caramel eyes, Ludwig's heart constricted and his breathe sped up at the awareness of what he was about to do.

Feliciano sighed again and lifted his hips as Ludwig ran his large hands down to unbuckle his belt and in one swift motion, loosen each button on the Italian's fly.

His own breathing matched his lover's as Feli helped his capo remove his pants and then his boxers.

Ludwig tried to catch his breathe, but it had gone to where he was sure it would never return. Transfixed with the view below him, the German ran one finger along the Italian's slender form to rest at Feliciano's handsome cock. His lover's straining shaft was smooth and warm, the head red from his need. It stood in perfect proportion to the rest of Feliciano' s body. Breathlessly, Ludwig stood and freed himself from his own slacks without looking away from the man below him.

The petite brunette lay his head back against the pillows as his blue eyed love looked him over. It was going to happen. Finally, after all their waiting. The man known and feared all over Chicago and Italy took a deep breathe to calm his own fears. He definitely wanted this. "Oh...Ludwig, Veh~" The boss sighed again as his strapping capo returned to the bed and leaned over him. Pale blue eyes clouded with need, the blonde man's brows knitted in a mixture of anguish and hope.

Slowly, reluctant to tear his eyes from Ludwig's face, Feliciano turned and reached for the bloodstained scrap of cloth that had fallen next to him on the bed. Ludwig watched curiously as Feliciano rubbed the still wet piece of fabric between his fingers and brought it to his lips to kiss. Caramel eyes looked lovingly upwards. "Veh~ my Ludwig..." Feliciano folded the cloth so only the soft, dry side was turned upwards. He stretched a small hand up to brush it against Ludwig's cheek.

"All the things you do for me. What would I do without you?"

His eyes glazed with a happy mist. The fabric may have held his blood, but it was torn from the body of a fallen adversary. In Feliciano's eyes, Ludwig was invincible. All the petite Mafioso's brushes with death seemed to fade into nothing. As long as Ludwig was by his side, he was untouchable.

Ludwig took the cloth from Feliciano's hand. The feeling of the cold, damp blood left on it sent shivers of disgust throughout his body. Every drop of his beloved's blood that had been absorbed there, Ludwig counted as an individual failure. Sins for which he must do penance.

Where Feliciano saw triumph Ludwig saw only failure. Forever, forever he would strive for perfection.

He took Feliciano's hand gently and tied the cloth around his wrist. If only that cloth were clean he would revel, as if he were presenting his lover a prize. As things stood it was only a promise in his eyes. A reminder, a vow. He kissed Feliciano's hand and all along his slender fingers. "Next time I will do better, Geliebte. Next time you will not be touched at all." There was a hardness in his voice and his eyes were distant as if imagining battles past and future. He toyed with the ends of the torn strip of cloth that dangled beneath the knot he'd tied. "Next time I will tear you a ribbon worthy of you from the lace hem of that cursed Belarussian's dress!"

Feliciano's breath hitched and his cheeks flushed crimson. "_Oh_." he felt a sudden warm sensation in his stomach at Ludwig's words of devotion. "_Mein Liebe_" He pronounced the words softly, his Italian accent evident and pleasing to Ludwig's ears.

Was this really happening, after so long? Never, from the moment Feliciano had first felt his heartbeat race for the strapping capo until that night on the balcony, had Feliciano ever dreamed this would come to pass anywhere but in his fantasies. As for his German lover, he had never dared to dream; not even in the private moments of the night like his petite Italian had.

Reverently, Ludwig ran his hands and mouth all over Feliciano's body. He marveled at their marked differences. In his eyes, Feliciano was a work of art. A renaissance cherub carved of marble and come to life. Smooth, flawless and polished but filled with the warmth and golden glow of life.

Whatever their future held, Ludwig was grateful for at least this one night. Not only to finally and fully acknowledge his sexuality and in doing so mend the painful rift in his soul that had been tearing him for years, but to be doing so with the man he loved. Nothing was ever certain in their business but Ludwig had tonight to worship the angel beneath him and he would, as thoroughly as possible, he would; until Feliciano's soul leaked into his own.

Ludwig's eyes were drawn naturally to the hardest and warmest part of his angel's body. Feliciano's tip was red with need and was beginning to leak just slightly. Gently, experimentally, Ludwig let his fingertips trail along Feliciano's length. They touched the wetness at his tip and spread it to the base. Feliciano watched him with rapt attention, his lip trembling and his eyes wide in anticipation for the moment Ludwig would clasp his large, firm hand around him entirely.

He did not have to wait long, and he could not stifle a gasp when the moment finally came. Ludwig clasped one hand tightly around him while the other teased and explored his inner thighs. Bright blue eyes stared into Feliciano's , unblinking, as the German lowered his mouth to Feliciano's thigh and began to suck and nibble on the tender flesh. He coaxed it to bruising with the suction of his lips and the firm, demanding swipes of his tongue. Feliciano jerked beneath him as the sensitive, ticklish flesh was stimulated. The Italian let out a high pitched little whimper of both pleasure and pain when Ludwig pulled away.

The German stroked the mark tenderly and sighed. He had been compelled to mark him, to see the bruise blossoming as proof that he was really there touching so intimate a spot on his Italian angel. It would be their secret, when Feliciano's pinstripe slacks were back on, when he redressed and straightened his suit and went back to being the gangster all Chicago feared, there would be Ludwig's mark, pink as a rose against his golden skin.

Feliciano's lips pouted lightly when Ludwig caught his eyes. "Veh~ Ludwig, kiss me!" he demanded and the German happily complied. He filled that small, sweet mouth with his eager tongue and Feliciano kissed him back with equal fervor. Only when the two broke for breath did Feliciano nip playfully at Ludwig's ear, refusing to let him draw too far away. The feeling of Feliciano's hot breath against his ear and the sound of the musical Italian words he spoke caused Ludwig's cheeks to stain.

Kissing down Feliciano's neck, Ludwig finally managed to pull away.

"Let me help you relax." He said, in a tone of false confidence. Feliciano watched him curiously, propped up on his pillows. Ludwig was taking this night as a serious responsibility. Any pain Feliciano felt would be a blow straight to Ludwig's heart and so he would take as much time as he needed, would put off the demands of his own painfully hard cock for as long as he must, to ensure that Feliciano was entirely relaxed.

Taking each foot in turn he massaged each toe and all along Feli's feet, gentle to avoid tickling the sensitive Italian. He let his warm , large, muscular hands massage his ankles, up his calves, fingers grazing over kneecaps, kneading themselves into Feliciano's thighs, palms warming hip bones, hands fanned out across his chest warming it and gently massaging. Ludwig lowered his mouth to tease Feliciano's hard pink nipples. He caressed the Italian's small waist. He kissed his lover's old wound and tenderly graced it with his cheek, murmuring words of love to the awe-struck Italian who could only watch as he melted into Ludwig's hands.

He knew that the tall, broad shouldered muscular German could easily be rough with him, that he could easily seek his own release through brute strength and not spare a thought for Feliciano's needs. But here he was, completely attentive to Feliciano's every moan of pleasure. Here he was, listening for any sign of discomfort, here he was ignoring his own straining erection and worshiping Feliciano's body like an idol. Feli threw his head back on the pillow and arched into the German's touch, moaning in abandon. He had never wanted Ludwig inside him more.

As Ludwig raised his hand to explore the curve of Feliciano's neck, the petite Italian caught it and brought it lovingly to his lips. He sucked each finger in turn, reminding Ludwig of the two previous nights when Feliciano had happily taken him in his mouth and used that same tongue to lap up his seed.

"Veh~ Ludwig, fill me please?" He glanced up through long lashes with a face Ludwig could not have denied if he had wanted to.

With hands that would have trembled in a less disciplined man, Ludwig reached into the pocket of his discarded coat for the lube his bruder had provided. Feliciano's smile was soft and trusting as he watched Ludwig warm the substance between his fingers. Soon they would both know the love they had longed for. Feliciano was still frightened, still unsure when he considered the true size of the German towering over him, but his body was hot and ready and his desire forced the worries to the back of his mind. Feliciano spread his legs for Ludwig, a little wider than was comfortable, in order to let the larger man come as close as possible.

Ludwig swallowed hard as he positioned a first large finger at the petite Italian's entrance. Feliciano gasped when he pushed it in, slowly not even halfway in. Ludwig felt a drop of sweat form on his brow. He had no idea Feliciano would feel so warm and soft inside. It made the waiting so much harder.

Ludwig began to curl his finger inside Feliciano. He teased and stroked the sensitive ring of muscle, causing Feliciano to sigh in pleasure and wrap his own soft hand around his erection and to pump himself as he watched Ludwig bent over him.

Pleased with the sight of Feliciano touching himself, Ludwig easily reached his spare hand up to stroke the Italian's mahogany locks. He continued to finger his lover gently, but when it came time for adding a second large finger he strategically yanked Feliciano's curl, causing the petite Mafioso to whimper in pleasure and to squeeze his own cock tighter. Ludwig set up a steady rhythm, working carefully and tenderly, sure to never push Feliciano too hard or to let his impatience get the better of him. There would come a time, he was certain, when he could take his lover recklessly but this was not the night.

He punctuated his soothing touches with sudden yanks of the Italian's curl. Whenever he did, Feliciano would arch his back, whimper, and relax further under Ludwig's touch.

"Veh~ veh~ Ludwig! Bitte, I want more!" his supple, pliant boss demanded.

Ludwig could feel Feliciano yielding to him. He could feel the Italian's body giving way, relaxing, growing warmer and softer under his touch. He drew in a sharp breath. Was now the time?

Was Feliciano truly ready for Ludwig?

It was time.

Ludwig slicked his hard cock. He was finally going to lay claim to Feliciano as his lover. Finally, he would possess him in the most intimate way, as no man had yet before, and Ludwig prayed as none would after.

He leaned forward, lifting Feliciano and wrapping him in both arms. He was careful to leave enough room between their chests so the small Italian could easily breathe without being crushed under the weight of his larger lover. Feliciano nestled into Ludwig's muscular arms, kissing him as he wrapped his legs around his capo's waist. He felt Ludwig position himself at his entrance. The tip of the German's cock was rock hard and hot with need. Feliciano reminded himself to take a deep breath and not to be afraid. One arm wrapped around Ludwig's side and clutched at his broad back. With the other he kept stroking his own erection.

All he could see was Ludwig, his massive frame blocking the rest of the room from Feliciano's sight. This combined with the feeling of strong, warm arms around him and the sight of intense blue eyes looking down on him chased away Feliciano's fear. Soon there would be no boundary left between them.

He nodded and Ludwig pushed his way inside, little by little, eyes wide at the new sensation.

Suddenly the German's breathing was heavy. Feliciano was painfully tight around him and for a moment his world had gone white, hot white.

Finding it hard to breath, Ludwig just managed to cough out "Liebe, are you...alright?"

At first Feliciano didn't know how to answer. He felt stretched and filled in a way he never had before. It is neither a pleasant nor an unpleasant feeling. He found himself relieved it didn't exactly hurt but he didn't know what to make of it either. It was a strange, but not unwelcome pressure. He felt like a glove two sizes two small for the hand that wore it, but he liked it.

"I...think so, Si!" He smiled up at Ludwig, caramel eyes closing as he grinned. "You can move now Ludwig!"

The blonde above him would have sighed in relief if his next movement hadn't taken his breath away.

He heard Feliciano gasp in shock and pleasure. He hadn't expected it to feel like this, he hadn't expected it to be this… good.

Ludwig's long, thick cock was sliding against all the nerves inside of him and when he drew back and plunged in he struck a place in Feliciano that left the Italian curling his toes and whimpering "Veh~!"

Feliciano had barely believed Gilbert, barely believed it could be anything but painful but with enough time and tenderness it seemed anything was possible. "ah! Ludwig! Il Mio Amore!"

Ludwig stared down at the petite Italian writhing in his arms. He could tell that his gaze had become predatory, dominant, full of lust. It showed in the way Feliciano's cheeks colored and how he had difficulty holding Ludwig's gaze as the German moved in and out of him, propelling them both towards orgasm.

Feliciano whimpered, shimmied, and tried in vain to spread his legs even wider. Anything and everything he could do to coax Ludwig to come in closer, deeper, harder.

The petite Italian's entire body became hypnotic to his German lover. His subtle moves, the arch of his back, the slight part of wet pink lips swollen from the deep penetrative kisses that Ludwig stole from him, everything about Feliciano had the breathless blonde spell bound.

He had become an animal, albeit a loving beast, whose only drive and only focus was the man beneath him and the way he clenched around his cock. Feliciano's rapid breathing and wanton moans were a siren song to the man above him.

Ludwig knew Feliciano was close when he forced himself to meet the German's intense gaze.

Feli's lips formed an unspoken "oh!" His eyes trembled, widened and watered and his hand clutched frantically at Ludwig's back as he spilt his warm seed between them.

The sight of those eyes and the feeling of the warm cum became too much for Ludwig. With a groan, a final push deeper and a strangled sob of "Ich liebe dich!" He came.

He came hard, deep, and unrelenting, causing Feliciano to squirm beneath him and gasp at the new sensation. "Veh~! Ludwig!"

Even after everything, Feliciano still looked at him in surprise and wonder. To think that he had so shaken his perfectly composed capo. The strong man above him was flushed pink, drops of sweat dripping from his disheveled blonde hair, his sky blue eyes watery.

Slowly, reluctantly pulling out, Ludwig kissed Feliciano's forehead and whispered. "Vait here, mein liebe, I vill take care of everything."

Feliciano whimpered in protest as Ludwig left the bed, but he trusted his German love.

Ludwig returned shortly with a cold glass of water and a warm wash cloth. As Feliciano quenched his thirst and calmed his racing heart Ludwig lovingly cleaned his sweetheart.

When Ludwig was satisfied that Feliciano was as clean and comfortable as he could make him, he lay down next to him and pulled the covers over them both. He wrapped his arms protectively around Feliciano who snuggled close against Ludwig's chest where he could listen to his German's still rapidly beating heart.

Ludwig stroked his hair, he wanted to say something to Feliciano to express how much what they had just done meant to him but he simply didn't know how. "You are certain you are alright? You are in no pain?"

Feliciano laughed and stroked Ludwig's chest, understanding far more than the German knew he did.

"Veh~ of course Ludwig. You were amazing. I'm so happy I have you." He sighed contentedly and snuggling against his blonde man who still lay awake in shock, Feliciano closed his eyes and began to slip into sleep.

Ludwig held his sleeping lover in his arms. He leaned back against Feliciano's headboard and stared at the ceiling as he listened to the sound of the winter wind howling against the windows so high up in the sky. Sure, their future was uncertain, it would not be easy. However, at this very moment, Ludwig smiled and breathed in deeply. Without a doubt this was the happiest he had ever been.

_End Chapter 9_

_Polska: What the Polish call Poland. I don't understand why we dont all call it Polska..._

"_Nyet. Er, Merci, non.": Russian (Nyet) No, French (Merci, non) No thank you_

_Ya ooznal nekotori roosski v ooniversiteteh: Russian: I learned some Russian at University._

_Pyot Chahsov: Russian: 5 hours_

_Ja...ti amo auch… German/ Italian combo: Ger: Yes, Ita: I love you, Ger: also_

_blanc-cassis: a popular french cocktail_

_oui: French: yes (wee)_

_Je te trouverai monsieur Kirkland et je te tuerai: French: I will find you, Mr Kirkland, and I will kill you._

"_Moi krasivee, silhnyee, americanski!" My beautiful, strong, American!_

_moi miliy!: My sweetheart_

_Ya lubliu tebya, moi krasivee muzjik. Mnye vseh rahvno, yeslee ya oomru zavtra , yeslee ya mogu sdelat tebya segodnya vecherom!"_

_(I love you, my handsome man(strong connotation), I dont care if I die tomorrow, as long as I have you tonight!)_

_moi muzhchina , tako'ee__̆__ sihlnye ee nezhnyee: Russian: My man, so strong and delicate_

_Ya frantsukaya potselooi tebya: Alfred offers to give Ivan a 'French kiss' which is slang in Russia for fellatio_

_Ya labliu vashi zolotye volosi: I love your golden hair!_

_Ah, vash golos: Ah, your voice!_

_Heta dlya pomstye: Belarussian: This is for revenge!_

_um Gottes willen: German: For God's sake_

_Attenzione: Ita: Attention_

_Capite: Ita: Understand?_

_Ich möchte zusammen: German: I want to be together_

_Il Mio Amore!: Italian: My love!_

_I hope you all enjoyed this nice long chapter! In ch 10, we'll see a confrontation between old friends, between old enemies, and family. We'll see love continue to blossom, even, and particularly where it is forbidden, and the weight of the soviet union will prove too much to ignore. Thanks again to Piyo13 for the Italian help!_

_And Please, my dear, sweet, beloved readers: Please review! Bitte? Per Favore? s'il vous plaît ? Pazhaloosta? I wait in anticipation of your thoughts and love you so for reading my little (well not so little) Mafia story! _

_Have a lovely weekend, my readers!_


	10. Chapter 10

_Firstly, this is a exceptionally long chapter, encompassing the very late night of the 18__th__ (from last chapter) all the way to the early morning of the 20__th__. I have finals coming up and won't be able to get chapter 11 out until mid May, so I hope this 20 thousand some odd word chapter will suffice to tide you over! The plot is really thickening now, and when I get back with ch 11, well, guys it's a doozy! If only finals weren't right now. Sigh._

_OH! As you all know I collab the delicious smutty bits with my sis, who is the queen of that stuff, whereas I have historically been, well, just unable to even go there. I don't know why, I really don't, I can write a wicked fight scene (if I do say so myself XD) But in the previous chapters I would write them up to a point somewhere before penetration and then hand it over. WELL, this time, oh yeah. I did it. Enjoy. I hope you do :) The rest will still be collabs, cause its fun! But I wanted to try to push myself as I have been trying to grow my smut writing abilities. Of course: Danke to you AbbyGreenEyes for taking my lovely Pru/Can prompt and fitting the fill to my plot so perfectly :D_

_(rated M of course, you all know, and I don't own hetalia, etc)_

_Ok, one more thing for fun, since I know Kisuke-chan wondered what Gil's bike looked like:_

_**The automobiles of Its Just Business:**_

_(You know the deal, just paste the links into the address bar and unspace the spaces!)_

_**Gil's motorcycle (BMW R32):**_

http:/ upload. wikimedia. Org /wikipedia /commons/ thumb/ 7/70 /BMW_R32_vl_/800px-BMW_R32_vl_TCE. jpg

_(picture it in cherry red. –this actually came out in 1923. BMW apparently only started making motorcycles after the treaty of Versailles. Before that the only German made motorcycle was the not so great Helios. – Gil would have the best.) Made in Germany._

_**Ludwig's Audi Type E:**_

http :/ www .autoviva .com /img/photos /250/audi_type_g_4_cylinder_large_28250. jpg

_(Picture it in black, though I don't think I ever mentioned the color. The Audi type E was produced from 1913-1924. Lets say Ludi has a 1919. Not brand new – but face it, the man's got money.) Made in Germany._

_**Feliciano's Duesenburg Model A, commonly referred to as a 'Duesy':**_

http :/ images. businessweek. com /ss/08/11/1111_defunct _auto_brands /image/ 800px-duesenberg. jpg

_(picture it a lovely dark blue.) Made in 1921, so just a wee stretch. most expensive car in the US. Sold for a ridiculously extravagant $6,500 which at the time, only gangsters and stars could afford) _

_**Romano's Lancia Theta Torpedo:**_

http :/ upload. wikimedia. org/ wikipedia /commons /8/8c/ Lancia_Theta_Torpedo_1917 .jpg

_made from 1913 to 1918. He has a 1917 model. This exact one. It only makes one appearance in IJB, I think. Made in Italy. _

_**Katyusha's 1920 Ford Model T:**_

http :/ www. seriouswheels. com /images /a_1920_Ford_Model_T .jpg

_She has just bought it, its been a good year for the oldest profession. Made in America._

_Alfred, Matthew, and Ivan use public transport as well as Kiku when he visits. and Nat is newly to the US so doesn't have a car yet, instead using Kats when she wants._

**_And now, without further ado, CHAPTER 10! I hope you all enjoy it! I tried to put in some tiny page breaks (...) and the translations will be after each scene instead of all the way at the end since it is so long._**

Dec 18th 1920. Near midnight.

As the capo finally fell asleep, holding his petite boss close beneath the blankets, events were unfolding across town that would impact their lives in ways they could not yet predict. As the two slept, the BOI agent had dressed, woken his Bolshevik lover and convinced him to go out on the town.

Ivan and Alfred walked as close together as they dared along the bustling downtown streets. It was Saturday night and music drifted on the air from the open door of the large daytime café turned evening dance hall as the two lovers approached.

_~They call me Rose of Washington Square.  
~I'm withering there, in basement air I'm fading.  
_

The bluesy singer's words faded again in a gust of wind as the Russian stopped, looking into the sparkling display window of a clothing shop. Hats, scarves, and accessories of all colors and fabrics, heavily beaded and decked in jewels filled the display window and sparkled in the flickering gas lights of the street lamps.

_~Foes, I've plenty of those.  
~I've got no future, but oh! What a past.  
~I'm Rose of Washington Square._

Ivan spoke up, staring at the display in the window. "Alfred, does this decadence not sicken you? These prices – how can anyone afford it, and should they not be spending their money on more practical things? You do not even have a social structure for your elderly…"

When there came no quick retort, the Russian realized he was standing alone. He looked to the right and left; no Alfred. Starting to worry, his violet eyes wide to take in the dark niches beside each building, he called, "Al?"

Stepping back from the window display, he didn't have to worry long; Ivan spotted his capitalist love…well, he heard him first.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing here? I've half a mind to have you deported!"

Alfred was standing in front of a shorter blonde man; in one hand he held his badge within inches of the green eyed man's face, in the other, he held the open case of opium.

"You know the laws now Arthur, if you're going to peddle your wares, you do it elsewhere! I won't have it in my city!"

Ivan smiled slightly as he walked up beside Alfred. He was interested to see the zealous agent work; the way the blonde stood tall, flashing his badge sent thrills up the Russian's spine.

The lyrics flowed from the open door louder now, the three men standing just to the right of it; the drug dealer up against the brick wall, the agent just inches from him, the Russian revolutionary just to the side and behind the taller blonde.

_~Rose, I'll never depart, but dwell in your  
~heart, your love to care, I'll bring the  
~sunbeams from the Heavens to you, and  
~give you kisses that sparkle with dew, my  
~Rose of Washington Square._

While his lover waved the confiscated dope and threatened the other man with jail time and deportation, Ivan was looking at the angry green-eyed man attempting to defend himself and regain his merchandise. It was as though he recognized him, had seen him somewhere before….but where? How could he have?

Ivan edged closer. "What is going on, Alfred?" He asked, violet eyes still locked onto the dealer's emerald ones as he searched his memory for when he had seen them before.

The agent spoke over his shoulder. "This dope fiend croaker here thinks he can corrupt my city with his poisons!" He turned back to the shorter man, "You know the Harrison Narcotics act – forget why you lost your license, have you Arthur?"

…_Arthur…_ Ivan thought the name was slightly familiar, still he wasn't sure what was so memorable about the drug dealer. He didn't know any drug dealers….

When Alfred finally ran out of things to say, the shorter man spoke up. Arthur squared his shoulders and replied cockily, "First off mate, its dope _peddler_, not fiend. Secondly, you know I'm no 'croaker', I saved you from the big one a time or two, I'll thank you to remember."

It was as the man spoke that Ivan began to see him in an olive green uniform, a wide brimmed hat, and white band complete with bright red cross on his arm. _The doctor._ Recognition struck like lightening.

The doctor he had rushed Alfred too after the American had stumbled from his wrecked plane. Ivan was shocked the British medic had fallen so far. The Russian was still in his own thoughts as Arthur leaned closer to Alfred and spoke again and it took a moment for the Brit's words and actions to sink into place in his mind.

The shorter blonde had leaned in, and waggling expressive brows, whispered so that only those closest could hear. "What of our history? You wouldn't put me away for this little trifle now would you, Ace?"

Alfred stepped back bumping into his Russian beau. Ivan didn't miss the way his Americanski had colored bright red; the blood rushed through him instantly as the jealous beast in his heart woke again and cried for blood.

The singer's words carried around them on the wind.

_~But after the summer comes autumn,  
~when flowers their petals must close,  
~for the songbirds are still and the breezes are chill,_

Alfred looked to Ivan guiltily for heartbeat, his face flushed crimson and then turning back to the other man, stammered angrily, "What history, you punk? You've been on my outs since you started dealing on the sly! One night's no history, and what friendship we had after, kicked it ages ago!"

Ivan however heard all this as though through a tunnel. He pushed past Alfred, grabbed hold of the dealer's collar and lifted the smaller man, slamming him into the bricks behind. "The medic. It was you." He growled low, violet eyes icy and frozen as he glared; the beast inside rejoicing at the look of dawning realization in Arthur's emerald eyes.

"Medic? Right, I was- who the blazes are…oh!" The British dealer looked from the man holding him against the wall murderously to the agent, who was currently speaking in a hushed but anxious tone to the Russian.

"Vanya, Vanya! It's nothing – let me handle this!"

Though he was not in the position to do so, the dealer chuckled and looked to the American agent he had first met when the Russian had carried him in to his tent nearly 4 years ago. "So, you really are dizzy for the blokes, then?"

Alfred was getting louder now. "Ivan! I gotta follow the law, we take him in – send him off to London where they can deal with him. Come on, put him down, and let me take him in."

Slowly, begrudgingly, Ivan lowered the cocky dealer, and let go of the shorter man's collar.

As soon as Arthur was back on the ground he adjusted his bowtie and ignoring the tall Russian still glowering at him, he turned to Alfred who was just clamping the opium case closed and spoke dismissively.

"I must have made an impression…" The Brit shrugged, "It was just a one time fling for me."

Alfred was surprised to find himself hurt. The American agent was full to the brim with righteous anger at finding his former friend dealing here in his streets, but Arthur had been his first and only sexual experience before Ivan, and it did sting to be so dismissed.

These thoughts were flashing through Alfred's head and the agent was telling himself it didn't matter anyway, he had found Ivan, the man he had remembered over the years…he had him now, and though he was a commie, he loved him.

_Hold the phone!_ Alfred thought. _I love him? Sure thing I do!_

The thought hit him suddenly and lifted a weight Alfred hadn't realized he'd been carrying. All this internal work felt as though it had taken an eternity; in reality these thoughts had flashed through Alfred's mind in the space of two heartbeats.

Looking up, with wide blue eyes, Alfred gasped.

The tall Russian was standing with fists clenched at his side, basically radiating loathing. A single sound came from his clenched jaw, Alfred recognized the chanting, building in intensity.

"kolkolkolkolkolkolkoklkol…"

The American agent took hold of his Bolshevik lover's arm, suddenly caring much less about dealing with his former friend. "Come on Vanya, screw this croaker- lets just go."

"Right, go on Red, take your man home then." Arthur dusted himself down, and turning into the nearby alley, the overboldened dealer continued fuming over his lost merchandise and nursing the hurt at his own lost friendship, though he'd never admit to it. "Give the wanker some drinks and he'll loosen right up…"

Both the American and Russian acted at once.

Alfred turned and yelled, "You fucker – I was going to let you go! Besides you're the one who-" But he didn't get to finish his sentence.

Ivan had acted fast, the beast in his heart overtaking him.

It was clear that the dealer had not expected to be heard; his green eyes were wide as the Russian grabbed him by the shoulder to turn him around, the broad man's strong arm already pulled back into a fist.

In one split second, one blink of the eye or imperceptible beat of the heart, the British dope peddler lay flat on his back, out cold, with what promised to be a glorious bruise blossoming around his left eye.

Ivan rubbed his knuckles lightly, turning back toward his love. The blonde stood with his hands placed firmly on his hips, blue eyes half challenging, half amused.

"Oh? Rushing to defend my honor, hmm?"

The Russian's violet eyes sparkled as the beast in his heart lay back down peacefully. Ivan smiled at his Americanski and was delighted when the expression was returned.

"I can handle myself you know." Alfred murmured as the two walked on, deciding to leave the dealer to wake on his own.

"Oh, Da, but you are mo'ee Americanski, I could not let him so disrespect you, mo'ee miliy."

Suddenly Ivan felt Alfred yank on his arm, as he was pulled into the shadow of the alley on the other side of the dance hall. His beloved Americanski's lips were suddenly on his; the agent's sure hands running through his pale hair. Ivan wrapped his arms around Alfred's waist and pulled him in close. These could be his last days if he were to be found out, and if they were to be, Ivan knew he would make each moment count. Returning his lover's passion, the Bolshevik moaned into the agent's kiss and listened to the lyrics that had been drifting on the air all that night.

_from out of the blue sky above,  
the heart of the rose set a flutter,  
with a wonderful tale of love._

Alfred was his rose, his rose from the sky who fell into his life, and Ivan was determined to show him just how much he loved him each day he had left.

…..

It was some time later when Arthur awoke. The street was still bustling, only slightly less so, most people having reached their destinations by now. He staggered to stand up.

He blinked slowly. Okay, he was able to open and close the eye, though it was starting to really swell. _That barmy Russian!_ Arthur Kirkland thought to himself as he made his way to standing and started down the nearest alley away from downtown. He didn't much feel like staying out any more and at any rate, the case he was going to pass off to one of his sellers had been confiscated. _Goddamn Alfred and his bloody Russian._

The British dealer stopped to lean against the wall along the alley. He pulled a joint from the inside pocket of his green velvet jacket. Taking a match as well, he struck it along the wall behind him and lit the rolled herb. He breathed deep, inhaling the mind altering smoke and sighed.

He could turn right at the end of the alley and go home, or he could turn left toward the Ukrainian district. Arthur took a second drag and closed both eyes.

Left. He really didn't feel like going home just yet. He'd rather not be alone with his thoughts at the moment. The British doctor had truly treasured his friendship with the American soldier. It was true that they had not had a second experience, and though he did find men attractive, it was the fast friendship the two men had developed while Alfred healed that was missed. No, Arthur was more interested in the ladies now. His mind instantly wandered to a certain tall, pale haired, ample- bosomed bird, and he smiled.

The brief respite into his daydream was interrupted suddenly and in his opinion quite rudely by a loud Frenchman.

"C'est Toi!"

Green eyes flew open; Arthur was instantly on his guard. "Who are you? What do you want?" He said as he squinted into the shadow.

His questions were greeted with more French that he didn't understand at all, having never been interested in learning it when he'd had the chance as a boy.

"Meurs!"

What the-? But the rest of the thought was never completed; Arthur saw the glint of moonlight hit the cool steel of the mysterious Frenchman's weapon.

He ducked the bullet just in time as the unknown man shot at him.

Arthur heard the man swear in French, he didn't need to know the words to understand the tone. He ducked and ran down the alley, keeping to the shadows as best he could as the Frenchman fired again and again.

After dodging the sixth bullet, Arthur heard the other man's weapon click empty. He stopped in the dark at the edge of the alley; he could see the sign for the Gold Star in the distance, just down the street.

Scooting towards the corner of the alley, the Brit's eyes suddenly went wide. The Frenchman had thrown down his useless weapon and run at him from the shadows.

Before Arthur could move toward the street, he was upon him. Francis took hold of the dealer's bowtie and glared down at him.

"You. I have been searching for you everywhere – following on your heels at each stop. You will die tonight, Kirkland!"

Arthur was having a very bad night. What was this bloke's problem? He struggled and managed to break free, only to have the Frenchman attack him again and hold him to the wall. He just got out, "Who the hell are you, Frenchie? And what do you want with me?" as the other blonde held him to the wall by the shoulders.

"Who ze hell am I? Who ze hell am I, you thief of young lives, you murderer of dreams!" The Frenchman's blue eyes were crazed, his face dark and murderous as his words. He looked side to side clearly searching for a sharp or blunt object to take the place of the spent gun.

"Yeah, who the hell are you, you crazy tosser! I sell you some bad stuff? Hey, I can make that right as rain, this moment!"

The Frenchman's face went even darker and more ominous; his eyes overly bright now and reduced to slits. He reached back and slapped the British dealer across the face.

_Why is it all the face tonight? _Arthur asked himself, but before he could dwell much on the stinging sensation across his cheek, his would be murderer continued.

"I am your death, zhat is who I am Kirkland!" He leaned in closer now, his words dripping in malice, and Arthur had no cause to doubt he meant every bit of that introduction. "My name is Francis Bonnefoy. You ruined my beloved niece's life with your 'miracle drugs'. She was once a rising star in ballet, the belle of Paris, you British clod, before you entered her life…now you have made an addict of my precious Mona, she will never achieve her dreams, she will never be able to return to the academy – you lowlife morceau de merde!"

"I merely supply the deman-" Arthur began, if he was going to die, he wasn't going out apologizing for who he was. But his sentence ended with another backhand to the face.

"She was only fifteen, you Fils de pute!"

Just then a police siren wailed from down the alley they had come from, the flashing red and blue lights falling onto the two men.

Bonnefoy let go of the British dealer. "Merde!"

Kirkland patted his pockets taking mental note of the rolled herbs, calculating his jail time by the estimated weight of the drugs he carried. "Bollocks!"

With a last murderous glance, the vengeful Frenchman ran into the shadows and away from Arthur, who immediately ran toward the brothel across the street, ducking into the door just as the police car wailed past.

_Note: "C'est Toi!" = its you!, "Meurs!"= die!, morceau de merde= piece of shit, Fils de pute= son of a bitch, Merde!= shit, Mona = Monacco _

Turning to the lobby of the Gold Star, he was relieved to see that most of the girls were occupied upstairs. Only one of Katyusha's ladies was downstairs, seated at the roaring hearth, painting her nails.

The curvy young lady looked up at the familiar man and gasping at the sight, she rushed to him. "Madame Ekaterina is in her office now," The girl lowered her voice, "A patron was rough with Irina; she is making sure he won't be doing it again. She is so good to us." The girl, who Arthur now recognized as Svetlana took his arm and began to lead him toward the parlor. "You look awful Dr. Kirkland! Come, rest in here; I'll get you something for your eye and let Ms. Braginskaya know you're here."

Arthur settled onto one of the plush brocade ottomans beside the fire in the parlor. He lit up a second joint while he waited and after puffing a few times, he was delighted to be joined by his dear friend mint bunny.

The mint green flying bunny that only he could see flew around him happily and spoke to him alone.

"I know mint bunny…what a night! But it does cheer me to see you! How is everyone else?" He was quiet while the 'imaginary' bunny replied. "Oh that Hook – he's a cheeky bastard!" The Brit laughed.

His mood continued to lift as he conversed with his little flying bunny friend, but finally they had to say their goodbyes. Just as Mint Bunny disappeared in a sprinkling of glittery fairy dust, Katyusha poked her head around the door.

"Arthur? Are you talking to someone?" The tall Ukrainian asked, as she entered with a raw steak in hand.

"Just my friend Mint Bunny, but he's just left." The dealer smiled up at her as she came fully into the room.

_Oh dear, he is either very high, or has been hit very hard_, the Madame thought, instantly sympathizing for the shorter man. Katyusha hurried closer and settled beside the ottoman near the fireplace on her knees; she reached out to hold the steak to Arthur's eye. As he took over holding it to his swollen face, she asked him, "Arthur – whatever happened to you?"

The dealer relaxed. Katyusha was such good company, always caring, thoughtful, and genuine. He instantly began to recite the events of the evening, carefully skating over his mention of a history with the BOI agent.

She listened with rapt attention and though she gasped audibly at several points in the retelling, she waited until he had finished to give voice to the panic that had been building in her heart since he started.

"Oh dear! Arthur, I am so sorry you had such a horrible night! I'm so glad you were able to get away from that crazy Frenchman! But Arthur… this Russian – you say Jones called him 'Vanya'? You remembered him from the war, and he was an officer in the army?" She gulped, and drew closer, her blue eyes wide, her elbows on Arthur's knees now, as the taller woman looked into his eyes hoping his answers to her next questions were anything but what she dreaded they would be.

"Tell me, Arthur, was he tall, with pale hair like mine? Were his eyes violet? O Bozhe, was he wearing a long pale off pinkish-white scarf?"

The Brit's bushy brows rose high. "You know him?"

Katyusha buried her face in his knees in despair. "Mo'ee Braht." she sighed. "And you are sure he was _with_ Agent Jones, in that manner...?"

Arthur removed the steak from his eye to look down at her platinum hair, "Considering the reaction, doll...I'd say so."

Katyusha looked up and sat back against the hearth. She put a hand weakly to her forehead feeling suddenly faint. "Oh my...I'd always suspected but of course...never known. If Natalya ever finds out..."

Just that moment, the door burst inward with a bang as it slammed against the wall behind.

Katyusha's heart stopped at the sight of her sister. Natalya's left shoulder and all down her side was soaked in blood and she was still bleeding copious amounts; tiny red droplets falling from the torn hem of her skirt. The younger sister glared. "What is this...?"

Katyusha sprang to her feet. "Sestra! Your shoulder! wh-where are your men?"

Natalya ignored her sister's concern and advanced toward them both, her expression darkening dangerously. "Never mind that..." she muttered under her breath, "they were weak..." She was inches from her sister and the dealer now, the tiny red stains tracking her movement across the room. "You said something about Jones..._who_ is with him?"

Katyusha could not meet her sister's eyes. "No one Nata, it is nothing. Tell me what happened with the Italians!"

Instead of answering, Natalya flung her dagger into the wall beside Katyusha and Arthur. "Nyet."

The British dealer spoke up in defense of the older sister, who was clearly afraid of the younger Natalya. " I say! Now, no need for that, Kat here just asked you a question!" He added under his breath, "crazy broad..."

Natalya leaned over him, drops of her blood falling onto his lap, she showed no care whatsoever for her substantial loss of blood. "You will leave now." She glared at Arthur, hey eyes as cold as the steel of her beloved daggers.

Arthur looked to Katyusha, who nodded. "You should go..."

He reluctantly stood, and with a sidelong glance, he whispered, "You know where to find me, dollface." He then left with a last glance from the doorway. Arthur would rather have stayed, but was reluctant to impose himself in what was clearly a family matter.

Natalya glowered at her sister. "Now...Jones."

The older sister smiled uncomfortably as she watched Arthur leave. "What about him? Mr. Kirkland was just telling me he saw him today. I'm sure you noticed his black eye."

Natalya continued to glare "Da, but do not take me for a fool...I heard you say he was _with_ someone...a someone it sounded as though you recognized. You said. _He_ was with. You said 'in that manner'. You said, sestra, I should not know..." The younger sister pulled the dagger from the wall and begun to dig for the bullet in her shoulder.

Trying to hide the terror she was feeling, Katyusha waved her hand dismissively and giggled, her body racked with nerves. "Of course Sestra! I know how hard you work. I did not want Mr. Kirkland to bother you with trivial matters when you are so busy."

The bullet fell to the floor from Natalya's wound with a clink; the younger sister turned toward the elder again. "Do not lie to me sestra...you could never lie well..."

Katyusha tried to fight it, but she could feel the tears forming in her eyes. "Of course...I could not...but believe me it is best if you do not know."

She glanced up from behind the tears that had begun to fall silently down her cheeks and quelled beneath her sister's psychotic glare. Natalya stepped forward threateningly, her face darkening like the sky before a storm.

"Wh-what? Sestra! why should it matter who he was with? Nothing is for certain! Mr. Kirkland could easily have been mistaken..." Katyusha took several steps back until she felt her back pressed against the warm stone beside the fireplace.

Natalya whispered, her voice deadly. "It is important enough for you and that Kirkland to be whispering secrets...secrets I can not know."

"Nyet, Sestra! Not that you cannot know...just that it was not worth troubling you over!" Katyusha tried in vain again to calm her crazed and bloodied sister.

"Well...should you not trouble me less by freeing yourself of the burden? Natalya smiled wickedly. "I promise you I can take care of whatever is necessary."

The older sister tried again. "If there was a burden, of course I would; but there is none. You know Mr. Kirkland likes to sample his wares. He thought he saw someone but of course it was not, could not, have been who he thought it was!" _Oh!_ She had said too much! The madam's heart sped in her chest as her sister advanced toward her again.

Natalya hummed. "And who did he _think_ it was, starshaya sestra?" The younger sister asked with horrifying sweetness as she twirled the bloody knife, flinging flecks of her own blood all over her sister's parlor.

Katyusha could take no more. She whispered, nearly inaudible, "Ivan...but be reasonable, we both know he is in Russia." Silence followed her words and when Natalya spoke again, it was with an unmistakable tone of doubt.

"We are certain, are we? Have you heard from our dear brother?" Natalya stopped twirling the knife. "Because I have not."

"Nyet but do you not think he would tell us if he had come here? And with Agent Jones? Surely not! You know how Ivan feels about the Americans now." Katyusha tried to put her sister at ease again.

Natalya considered her sister's words, but then the memories of standing just outside her brother's bedroom door to listen to him as he slept came suddenly to mind. "Hmm...da, but I also remember how big brother would sometimes yell out in his sleep after the Great war, during the revolution..." she smiled longingly, "when we were all together," Her smile instantly dropped as though it had never been, as though no smiles had ever been. "I remember hearing...something...I remember 'Alfred'."

Natalya stood in silence as she wondered aloud. "Jones' first name is Alfred. I wonder could this be the same...a pilot named Alfred?"

Katyusha's eyes widened. "Na-Nata...please...you must have been hearing things! I don't remember anything of the like. What Pilot? If Agent Jones had befriended Ivan during the war, would he not have told us so? Been more receptive to our request perhaps?"

The Byelorussian sister nodded slowly."Da. I would think he would...why would he not share a friendship with us?" She played with the edge of the knife. "why..." Natalya spoke up and looked to Katyusha for an answer. "Why?"

Katyusha responded a sure as she could muster. "There is no reason for him not to have and no reason for Ivan to be here in America unless it was to reunite with us. I can only conclude Mr. Kirkland was mistaken." She ended, her face flushed pink at the lie.

Her dangerous sister picked up on the blush and advance to within a few inches of Katyusha. She spoke again in a sweetly sinister voice.

"Katyusha...Katyusha...tell me exactly what did _your_ Mr. Kirkland think he saw tonight?" When her older sister was silent for a moment, Natalya inclined her head ever so slightly, the shadows covering her eyes as she continued, "oh...should I go and ask him?"

Knowing her sister well, Katyusha spoke in a rush, "He thought he saw them together at a café…talking, just talking, while he was waiting to meet with one of his sellers!" She shakily added, "It could not have been Ivan..."

Natalya stepped back a pace and spoke more to herself than to her sister. "Could not have been, nyet...because Ivan would not come so far to visit a friend when he would not to visit his little sister..." She looked back up and addressed Katyusha again. "You said 'in that manner'. In what manner was Ivan, this imagined Ivan...talking to Jones at the cafe?"

Once again the older sister was silent, as she tried to think quickly. Natalya was impatient and could always tell when Katyusha was lying.

"Sestra? Maybe I will need to get this description from the one who saw it. He can not have gotten far yet." She made to move toward the door.

Panicking for Arthur, who had already had a terrible day, Katyusha tried to lie again. "Wait!" She wrung her hands together. "That won't be necessary!" She paused, trying to make sure her words came out right and sounded true. "I only meant to ask 'in what manner?' As in, in what manner were they talking? Friendly or formal? You know my English is not always so good, Natalya."

The younger sister threw her dagger again; this time into the carpet below her as she screamed at her older sister. "DO YOU THINK SO LITTLE OF ME, KATYUSHA?" The Byelorussians eyes were slits of fury and indignation. "Your English is good enough to understand what your patrons ask for, to count the money, to pay the bills. You have been here longer than me." Natalya leaned in again, "Your English is good enough to whisper secrets with 'Arthur' " She continued, "secrets you keep from your sestra..."

Katyusha looked to her sister, the tears coming freely to her eyes again. "I only wished to protect him...I did not want you to think he was insulting Ivan's honor...not that it even was Ivan...because it wasn't...but I didn't want you to think Arthur meant any offense because I am certain he did not!"

Natalya tilted her head to the side, her cool blue eyes appraising her sister for evidence of lies. "Offense? What offense would talking at a cafe bring? Friendly or formal...If this Kirkland has slandered our dear brother...!" "But in what way?"

Katyusha was terrified; it seemed she had gotten herself into a hole. "Not at all! Not at all!" She waved her hands frantically. "You see Agent Jones...it uh, it seems Agent Jones prefers the _company_ of men. Mr. Kirkland simply thought that the man Agent Jones was with resembled our brother but of course it was not him and I told him it could not be!"

The older sister began to sniffle as the tears flowed in earnest. "Pazhaloosta Natalya...he meant no harm!"

Natalya chewed over the words her sister had spoken. "The company of...but then the man...the one he _thought_ was Ivan...he would have given some reason for him to think this, da?"

The Byelorussian was silent for a moment, before she once again spoke as though to herself. "Ivan would not...nyet, he could not...not..."

Katyusha picked up on her sister's thoughts and tried to capitalize on them. "Of course not Sestra! Our Ivan? With men? What a silly thought!" She forced a laugh, "Agent Jones was merely being friendly with a man who resembled our Ivan. Nothing more."

The Ukrainian sister suddenly wished there was anywhere else she could back into further, and she couldn't understand why her sister seemed to suddenly have had an epiphany. An epiphany that did not bring a smile to her face. When Natalya spoke, her voice dripped ice.

"Resembles our Ivan?" She stooped to pull the dagger from the carpet. "But I have seen no one who resembles our dear Vanya..." Natalya took a moment to think, "Sestra, did _Arthur_ say which man gave him the injury?"

Katyusha shook her head through the tears, intent on not giving her sister another connection, knowing their brother's strength and temper. "Nyet, he did not. I am certain Mr. Kirkland only _thought_ he resembled Ivan. He is not so familiar with him."

"No...but he described him to you, didn't he sestra?" Natalya smiled sweetly though a panicked horror began to peek through in the younger sister's voice.

"Only vaguely, Nata! Surely you cannot believe it was Ivan? You should know better!" Katyusha tried to be crafty. "You know Ivan does not like men and why would he waste his time on Jones when he could come here first to see me and _you_?"

"Da...why?" Natalya questioned before she broke down, nearly sobbing, "but why would he ignore me all this time? Why would he care so little for me...us?" She stood straighter, her grip on the dagger stunning, given the amount of blood she had lost. "I will go to Jones! I will know the truth!"

Katyusha spoke up worried that if it was Ivan, as it certainly seemed, Natalya may see him at the agent's home if she was able to find the address. "Wait! Do not leave in haste! Ivan has not meant to ignore you. It is only his patriotism that has kept him away at war. Fighting for our homeland, for you, us, to keep us safe of course! I am sure even when he joined the Bolsheviks it could only have been an attempt to back the winning side and secure our future."

The younger sister wailed; her arms flailing wildly, the knife dangerously swiping through the air. "Our future...Oh our Vanya, if he cared he would have taken all our fortune and left for France, for, for, ANYWHERE! He would have taken me with him!" Her countenance changed rapidly to one of cool calculation again. "Could it be? I must know exactly what this man looked like. Could he have my Vanya's eyes? My Vanya's eyes like amethysts? Nyet...he could not have. When I see this man myself and take his eyes, take them and SEE they are not my dear brothers...then I will know..."

Katyusha stared at her sister in horror as Natalya stood in silent contemplation. Suddenly, she spoke again, and her words chilled her older sister to the bone.

"Did...the doctor mention his eyes? Sestra, did he?"

Katyusha forced herself to smile in an attempt to stem her sister's psychotic rage. "Nyet. No one has eyes like Ivan's. Of course this man did not!

Natalya began to pace in front of the fire. "hm..." If I only knew which man hit Kirkland...If I knew he had seen his eyes..."

Panicked that her sister was once again going to threaten Arthur, Katyusha tried to divert Natalya's attention back to their rivals. "Be at peace! Let us focus on doing away the Italian. As soon as we have we can invite Ivan to join us and you will know for certain it was not him and we will all be reunited."

It seemed to work for one glorious moment. "The ITALIAN!" I nearly had him...that German once again, once again sestra, he has shot me twice...I will not rest until the Italians are gone from this city and it can be ours! Mine and Ivan's...and yours!"

Natalya continued to pace. "But I will know...I must know..." She bolted to the door and stopped, turning to her sister. "I will find the agent! Then I will know... Then I can turn all my attention to Vargas." Her face darkened again. "If Jones has done something to Vanya, I will see him in the ground..."

She looked away again, lost in her thoughts. "Maybe Kirkland knows where I can find him...where he calls home? If he knows him enough to recognize him..."

Katyusha wiped a hand across her eyes and shook her head. "From the sound of it they are not on good terms. I do not think he knows where he lives."

"But they were once? It is a better chance than nothing. The eyes… they are the key. I must know about the eyes. How many men could have Vanya's hair, his stature? Few. Even in this weather, there are many who might wear a scarf similar to Vanya's. His eyes? None. None have his eyes."

Desperate now, Katyusha tried to lesson the British drug peddler's credibility. "You know Mr. Kirkland likes his opium and his other poisons. Don't you think he was simply seeing things?"

Natalya looked closely at her older sister. "You are protecting your Mr. Kirkland, Sestra. You know more than you are saying." Natalya eyed her sister callously and grinned. "Arthur will tell me what he saw, opium dream or no. he will tell me."

Katyusha stepped forward a step away from the wall. "Sestra, don't! If I am being evasive it is only because I know your methods can be...harsh. Don't hurt Arthur, Nata!" the taller sister shifted uneasily before admitting, "I like him!"

Natalya seized the power her sister had just unwittingly given her. "Ha!" I _knew_ you were trying to protect him sestra!" She leered, and whispered as her older sister backed up into the wall again. "Katyusha...tell me exactly what your Arthur said he saw. Tell me or you will never see him again. My methods can always be...sharpened."

Katyusha's throat had gone dry. How could she hope to get out of it? She gulped and tried to match her story with the one she had told earlier. "He saw only what I have said! He saw a man who looked like Ivan with agent Jones...they had a scuffle outside of the café/dance hall. Kirkland was waiting for one of his sellers. The Agent tried to bring him in. That is all! He could not tell you more!"

"The agent gave him the black eye?" Natalya asked. "The man who looked like Ivan...looked like Ivan...you must have been the one to judge this, da?" She stressed the name again, _Arthur_ must have described him, then,...da?"

The older sister rushed to describe the man in vague terms. "He was tall with hair the color of mine. That is not so unusual, is it? He said nothing of his eyes."

Natalya relished the power she wielded, knowing her sister was lying; she could always tell in the older sister's eyes. "Well… if he did not say, I will have to ask him then."

Desperation shown through her voice, as Katyusha's eyes filled with tears again. "Sestra! Why? Have my answers not been sufficient?"

Natalya simply stood and faced her sister. "Nyet."

Katyusha heaved a deep sigh, her shoulders slumped and she looked down to the carpet before facing her sister again. "You swear you will not hurt him? You would not, you love me, don't you Nata? You know I only ever mean well."

The younger sister considered the elder as the feeling of victory filled her. "I swear I will not harm Kirkland if you tell me everything. I do love you Katyusha... I would be very sorry to have to hurt him, knowing it would hurt you."

Katyusha slumped further against the wall, unable to meet her sister's gaze. She answered, her voice trembling. "They were violet. He said they were violet."

When Katyusha did brave her sister's eyes, she hoped Natalya would keep the promise.

Natalya was shivering in pure rage; the petite woman clutched her knife and spoke very slowly, as though making an oath. "Jones...I will take care of the Italians myself...if only for revenge... Natalya looked down at her feet and then to the sky. "But Jones...I will take from him everything...whatever he holds dear he will lose. HE. WILL. NOT. TAKE. MY. VANYA. FROM. ME!"

With that, the younger sister turned and walked to the door.

"But Natalya! There's still a chance it is not him! Or at least that Arthur is mistaken as to the nature of their relationship!" Katyusha called to her sister.

"If so... I will find out. I can be persuasive, as you know. I will find where Jones sleeps. I will see." Natalya turned to her sister, suddenly sweet. "Do not worry. I will keep my promise."

The younger sister left, leaving the door wide open behind her.

The older sister slid down the warm stone on the side of the hearth. Katyusha laid her head onto of her knees as she brought them close to her chest. Hot, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. This time they were not silent.

_Note: Bozhe= God, Mo'ee Braht= My brother, starshaya sestra= elder sister_

…..

Dec 19th 1920: The wee hours of dawn.

The Hungarian assassin leaned on the brick wall across from her target's apartment complex; she nodded to the miserable looking woman who passes her. Natalya paid the brunette no heed; her thoughts were consumed with how to make the BOI agent pay for what he had done to her. Neither woman realizing that at the particular instance they both want the same thing: to hurt Alfred Jones as much as possible.

…..

As the weak light of dawn broke through the darkness, the capo's blue eyes opened slowly. He rolled away from the pinkish light coming in through the wide glass windows of the top story penthouse. As Ludwig shifted in the covers to turn away from the sun, his breath caught in his throat.

Feliciano, still perfectly nude, was curled under the covers beside him. The Italian scooted in his sleep toward his German love. Ludwig encircled the petite man in his arms again, and laid his chin atop Feliciano's head.

_Ah, it had not been a dream._

"Mmmm..." Feli's small voice came up from where he was nestled in Ludwig's broad chest. "Buongiorno" Carmel brown eyes blinked open as Feliciano looked up at Ludwig and smiled.

Ludwig ran his hands down Feliciano's slender back and thought to himself, that he couldn't possibly be luckier. "Guten Morgen, mein Liebe."

The petite Mafioso stretched, reaching his arms above both their heads. As he uncurled his body and pressed it against his lover's, Feliciano's heart quickened. The brunette wrapped his arms around the blonde's neck and pulled himself up to plant a kiss on his capo's cheek. He felt Ludwig's heart beat against his chest and its rhythm matched his own as their hips came into contact.

The blood pumped through his body as Feliciano felt his love's growing erection against his own. The Italian shifted his hips to move against the taller man's and was rewarded with a low moan from his German love.

The Mafioso scooted down just slightly, leaving one arm up and draped around Ludwig's neck while he lowered the other to drift down his capo's muscular chest to grip the thick cock he had become so acquainted with over the past few days.

As Feliciano stroked his lover into full hardness, he felt Ludwig's large hand grip his hip tightly. The petite boss saw getting the disciplined German to vocalize his pleasure again as a challenge; and Feliciano Vargas always got what he wanted.

His fantasies had become reality the night before and Feliciano would never forget the feeling of Ludwig inside him, or the look, that predatory look, in his lover's sky blue eyes. Feliciano had been surprised that it had felt good; it had felt really good.

"Il mio amore." He whispered against the broad chest as Ludwig moved to lean over him. The Italian moved his hand up to meet his other behind his German's neck.

Now on his knees above Feliciano, Ludwig gazed down at his Italian angel. His mind a complete blank, his heartbeat steadily sending blood pumping through his body, sending a blush to his cheeks and fueling his need. The blonde ran a hand through the brunette's hair, immediately wrapping the familiar curl around his finger.

The Mafioso sighed "Veh~!" and arched upward toward Ludwig as his strong capo reached his other arm around Feliciano's back to pull them together. The sun broke through fully, sparkling bright clear rays around the room as Ludwig lowered his lips to meet Feli's in a deep kiss.

The slender Italian looked into his capo's bright eyes and ran both his hands through tangled blonde locks. He knew he wanted to wake up this way everyday.

Feeling Ludwig tug and twirl his curl, Feliciano began to breathe heavily and bucked up toward his love above him again before wrapping both legs around his German capo's strong waist.

The German's breathing was as heavy as the Italian's; Ludwig's blue eyes were wide as he looked down at Feliciano. He still couldn't believe he was here, in the petite boss's bed. All the years he had ignored his feelings, mistaking them for simple devotion to duty when it had been love.

The blonde released the brunette's curl and brushed his hand down Feliciano's cheek to cup the smaller man's face. He still held Feli close, Ludwig's other arm fully encircling his Italian's slender back. "Are you sure, you are not…sore, Geliebte?" His heart was pounding, and the way Feliciano had wrapped his legs around his waist was sending a heat spreading throughout his body that the German was finding increasingly difficult to ignore.

Feliciano pulled himself up closer; his chest pressed against Ludwig's, he was able to feel his strong man's heart beat as it thudded against his own. The Italian leaned in against the German's shoulder. "Veh~" he sighed. "Ludwig, Il mio amore. I dreamed of you for so long…" Feliciano spoke softly against Ludwig's chest. "Bitte?"

The blonde felt the sweat begin to gather at his hairline and a hungry moan sounded behind his clenched jaw from deep in his throat.

The young Mafioso smiled up at his capo. "Bitte?" His caramel eyes sparkled in the morning sun. "I can take it. Veh~ I want you." His chin lifted against Ludwig's chest as he pouted.

Bright blue eyes closed as Ludwig slid his hand up Feliciano's back into mahogany locks and bent down to possessively take his petite boss's soft lips with his own.

"Veh~" Feliciano sighed into the kiss as Ludwig lowered him to the mattress. Feli let his arms fall from Ludwig's neck to run along each muscular arm. He unwrapped his legs from his capo's waist and spread them as his hips lowered to the bed.

Breaking from the kiss, Ludwig sat back on his knees. He made to reach for the lube still beside the bed, but stopped. His eyes were drawn to the mark he had left on his petite Italian's inner thigh. He leaned in, and gripping Feli's narrow hips, Ludwig kissed the rosy bruise reverently.

"Veh~" Ludwig heard his love sigh again, and the sound sent a thrill through his blood. The capo slid one hand along the Mafioso's thigh to encircle Feliciano's length, and his heart raced at the sudden gasp from the Italian's lips as he tightened his grip and began to stroke his large hand up and down the shaft.

This time it was proving more difficult to keep his control, and Ludwig took a deep breath to calm the voice inside that told him to take his beautiful Italian right that moment.

_Nein, utmost care had to be taken._

The disciplined man had always been able to keep that part of himself in check, and when it came to his Feliciano, Ludwig's control had to remain exemplary. The blue eyed man looked down at his love writhing at his touch in the bright sunlight now streaming onto the bed; Feliciano's warm sun touched complexion, radiant in the morning rays. Ludwig continued to take deep calming breathes as he reached for the lube with his free hand.

After warming the substance between his fingers, Ludwig slowly released Feliciano, who moved his hand in to take the place of his lover's, soft brown eyes half closed, he gazed up at the broad shouldered blonde looking back down at him. The sun made Ludwig's pupils contract, and his eyes stand out all the more blue, blonde disheveled hair all the more golden.

Slowly, as carefully as the night before, Ludwig pressed first one and then two fingers into Feliciano's tight entrance. Each time he preceded his moves with tugs to Feli's signature curl. The slender Italian sighing, gasping, and moaning as his German love prepared him.

Feliciano's expressiveness was enough to undo the anguished man above him. It was all Ludwig could do to ignore his painful need and calm his racing heart.

When Feliciano warmed under Ludwig's touch, his soft, tight, muscles relaxing, the taller man leaned over him and kissed along his Italian lover's chest. Ludwig breathed again, deeply inhaling the petite man's scent. "Are you…ready, Feli?"

The brunette was moving his hips in rhythm with the motions of his love's fingers as they moved in and out carefully. Feliciano gasped in pleasure as Ludwig's large fingers hit just the right spot to make his toes curl and his legs quiver. "S-Si!"

Slowly, Ludwig stretched his fingers inside his love one last time before pulling them out and coating his painfully hard cock in lube. Taking another deep breathe, He looked down at Feliciano, held onto the Italian's hip with one hand, the other reaching up to toy with Feli's curl.

Feliciano felt the German's hot tip against his entrance. He opened his eyes wide to look into his love's face. The blonde was biting his bottom lip, his brows knit together in an expression of desires held in.

"Veh~" Feliciano sighed, his eyes beginning to close; he ran a hand along Ludwig's forearm up his bicep to just graze his fingertips along the taller man's jaw line. "Veh~ let go Ludwig, Ti amo."

At his love's soft words, Ludwig breathed a deep sigh and kissing the fingertips still held against his jaw, the German's expression softened. He took Feliciano's curl tightly around his finger and with a low moan finally escaping his parted lips, Ludwig slowly entered his supple Italian angel for the second time.

As he moved his hips to draw back and plunge forward, Feliciano's whimpers, moans, and sighs propelled Ludwig on as he experimentally went deeper, faster than last night.

Feliciano gasped with each moment that his love plunged in and hit the spot that left him breathless. He tried to spread his legs wider each time. Finally, as the need became too much and his legs could spread no further, the petite Italian flung his head back on to his pillows, arching toward his love, Feliciano lifted his legs to rest each on one of Ludwig's broad shoulders.

As Feliciano cried out in wanton abandon at the sensation, linking his toes together behind his partner's neck, Ludwig gasped at the depth he suddenly found himself. The broad German leaned forward, putting one large hand to each side of Feli's shoulders. Ludwig increased his speed, feeling the predatory look returning to his eyes, the flush in his cheeks mirrored in his Feliciano's, as the Italian reached behind him for the headboard.

Reaching a hand up into his angel's mahogany hair again to twirl the curl, the German sent the Italian into a frenzy; the petite man shimmied, and pushed his hips against his lover's. "Veh~ Dio mio! Dio mio!"

Ludwig could control himself no longer, Feliciano's cries and hypnotic movements were too much. The Italian's eyes were closed tight as he arched into his German lover. Ludwig took Feli's soft lips in a penetrative kiss as he pulled back and plunged in again; pressing the smaller man into the mattress further than before with a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl.

Feliciano's eyes flew open as his strong capo drove into him again and again; it was all he could do to stroke himself in time with Ludwig's rhythm. The Italian panted into the German's ear as Ludwig continued, kissing along Feliciano's slender neck and managing to moan what Feliciano assumed were partial words in his native tongue.

With each of Ludwig's strong thrusts, the petite Italian was filled, his nerves tingling making his legs shake as Feliciano recognized he was nearing completion. He had mostly avoided the dominating, predatory look in his lover's eyes, but hearing his composed man lose himself to deep moans and half formed German words, Feliciano opened his eyes to look into those of startlingly sapphire as Ludwig's gaze penetrated to his soul.

His eyes wide, bottom lip trembling, Feliciano brought his hand from the headboard and drove his fingers into Ludwig's blonde locks. "Veh~ oh!" He came warm and fast between them, crying out for his German love.

Seeing Feliciano's warm caramel eyes now wide open and watery, Ludwig lost it entirely. He held onto the Italian's slender shoulders and dropping his forehead against Feli's chest, Ludwig cried out as he came deep and fully into his love. "Mein Feliciano!"

Just as the night before, as soon as they were able to move again, Ludwig took immediate care of Feliciano's needs; showing with his actions just what the other man meant to him.

There were a few heavenly moments when they were still simply Feliciano and Ludwig and could pretend there wasn't a federal agent, a Byelorussian mob, or rival families to worry about. A few heavenly moments when Feliciano could simply lay his head against his strong capo's broad chest and listen to Ludwig's heartbeat. Moments that the capo held his boss close and thought of nothing but the sound of Feliciano breathing.

This could never last of course.

At least it lasted a few blessed hours.

Ludwig, now fully dressed, stood in front of the mirror combing his hair back into place as Feliciano slipped into his favorite blue pinstriped suit. Boss or no, he was in far too good of a mood for the suit jacket. Rich blue slacks and vest over a black dress shirt did just fine. He'd have his black double breasted wool coat after all.

The two men were just discussing breakfast when a knock sounded against the door.

With a sudden realization Ludwig ran to the living space of the penthouse and mussed up the sofa. He deftly caught the pillow and blanket Feliciano threw to him and haphazardly arranged the sofa as though he had slept there all night after planning and plotting with his boss and nothing more.

Feliciano went to answer the door but suddenly the way was blocked by the tall blonde.

"Feli vait, don't your men normally call first?" He asked, blue eyes glancing sidelong toward the door and the suspicious knock.

Ludwig instead walked toward the door, pistol at the ready, he opened it cautiously.

"Romano!" Feliciano greeted his older brother happily as the angry looking brunette entered.

The German breathed a sigh of relief and closed the door behind the boss's brother.

"Fratello~ what a surprise!" Feliciano smiled, letting go of his brother, who he had immediately embraced.

"Surprise?" Romano looked from his brother to Ludwig and back. "What are you-a talking about? It's Sunday. We have-a mass in-a fifteen minutes!"

Feliciano blushed and glanced to Ludwig before looking at his feet. _He was the don damnit, he shouldn't feel guilty for missing mass._ "Veh~ Romano, I think I will skip today." He looked back up at his brother, "I worry about the padre's heart. Veh~ I think I should give him a week without hearing my confession." _Especially with what I have to confess now…_ Feliciano stole another look to his tall German capo who blushed and coughed guiltily.

Romano looked to both men and threw up his arms. "And they told-a me downstairs that-a you had-a been-a injured again! That-a you were-a up all night-a planning revenge!"

"That's true Romano, we were attacked by the Byelorussians last night!" Feliciano expressed to his brother what had happened at the pizza joint while loading his gun and stowing it beneath his coat. "And Ludwig killed 9 of them!" He smiled up radiantly.

The older brother was clearly still in a bad mood, and as Ludwig watched from near the door the two brothers began to argue in Italian. The German capo was fairly sure he came up at some point when he heard the words patate, and protestante. Surely Romano had not just called him a protestant potato….

The capo decided after a few more moments to interrupt the Mafioso and his brother, and to ignore the various insults he knew Romano was sending his way. Ludwig stepped forward trying to break up the argument before it got any more serious. "Romano, how are things going vith Agent Jones?" He spoke seriously, trying to convey his desire for the conversation to return to a productive topic.

To his disappointment, Romano only seemed to get angrier. The older brother backed toward the door. "Oh, going-a very well! I'll have his-a fratello any a-day now, and then he'll a-know not to mess around with-a la mia famiglia!"

Feliciano spoke up before his hot headed brother could leave. "Just be careful Romano, be persuasive, but we don't need a high profile murder case right now, Veh~ if anything happens there can be no evidence!" The younger brother was clearly worried by the older one's extreme anger over the situation. Romano's temper always got him into trouble, but this should not be personal. _Why did he hate that Canadian so much?_ Feliciano wondered.

Romano strode toward the door, and still mumbling Italian obscenities, he left.

Once the door closed and Romano's footsteps faded down the hall, Ludwig turned to Feliciano. "I do not think your brother und I vill ever get along, Feli.

"Nonsense!" Feliciano jumped up, wrapping his arms around his taller love's neck to bring their lips together. He slid back to his own height after the kiss, the capo's strong arms still encircling his back, Feliciano laid his head on Ludwig's chest, reluctant to return to the world waiting for them below. "He'll see how much I love you and he'll eventually come around."

The petite Mafioso lifted his chin and gazed up at his capo. "Veh~ Ludwig, it may be too late for breakfast, but lets hurry and take care of our business today so we can get lunch!"

"Ja, that sounds good, Feli." Ludwig smiled down at Feliciano before releasing his boss and reaching for his coat and hat. As the couple rode the elevator down to the ground floor hand in hand, Ludwig's thoughts were on the subject of brothers.

He needed Romano's support if he and Feliciano had any hope of keeping their secret. They needed the agent's brother in order to affect any control over Jones and send him packing back to the capitol. And lastly, Ludwig hoped his own brother had listened to him and not continued to see the Canadian…He had always been able to keep Gilbert out of his business and both brothers preferred it that way, however, Ludwig knew his brother's stubborn nature and he worried what would happen if Gilbert continued to see this Mathew.

Too soon the elevator doors slide open and Ludwig had to release his love's soft hand. They exchanged a last warm look before Feliciano once again became Don Vargas and Ludwig became only his devoted capo. The German followed his boss from the elevator and nodding to the men in the lobby, they made their way outside into the cold December morning.

…..

Later that afternoon, once all other errands were taken care of and after a lunch at one of Feliciano's many favorite restaurants, the petite Italian and his tall German made their way down the empty ally toward the purple painted door that led to the Doctor's opium den.

The man at the door knew now to let them in without hassle. Ludwig followed Feliciano in and down the hall. Once again they passed by the many rooms filled with lounging addicts in varying levels of intoxication. The doctor's patrons sometimes giggling, sometimes crying, sometimes lying still as the dead. Ludwig kept his hand on the small of Feliciano's back as they rounded the corner by the large room that had held the bright eyed maniacs when last they came. This time, only a few inhabited the room, they swayed and chattered nonsensically.

Soon they were at the door to the British dealer's office. The Mafioso and his capo didn't bother to knock, Kirkland knew they were coming. Feliciano led the way in, Ludwig right behind him.

Instead of at his desk, the Brit was lounging in a large arm chair beside his wall of merchandise, a joint dangling in between two fingers as he brought a cup of tea to his lips. The two mobsters set down in the sofa opposite the drug dealer.

"Had a rough day,…or night, Kirkland?" Ludwig asked with a slight smirk. He'd never been able to stand the smug Brit and couldn't help but enjoy seeing the dark bruise all around the dealer's left eye.

"You could say so Fritz." Arthur replied taking first another sip of his earl grey and then a long drag on the rolled herb. Ludwig looked toward Feliciano on the sofa, hadn't the dealer been the one to contact them? And now he was making them wait?

It seemed the British man was mulling something over in his mind. When the last puff of smoke left his lips, it seemed he was ready to talk. Arthur sat up straight, setting his tea on the spindly side table next to his chair.

"So," He spoke to Feliciano, ignoring the German. "I have enjoyed a boom in my sales thanks to having little Italy opened up. I believe I owe you some information."

The petite Mafioso leaned forward. As he moved, his capo's hand held at the smaller man's back did not go unnoticed. "Si?"

"Yes. The agent." It had taken him all of his sleepless night to decide on what to do about Alfred Jones. He'd decided that he'd do what his former friend would so clearly do to him, let someone else do what they wanted and leave him to his own devices.

"Agent Jones has a lover. _His_ name is Ivan. I can't remember the surname." _Braginski. _Arthur thought to himself. He had asked Svetlana in the lobby what 'mo'ee braht' meant, but he wouldn't let on that the Russian had any connection with Katyusha. "He was in the Russian Army during the war, I don't know if he still is, but he's here in Chicago."

The British dealer took another long drag. "I though that might be of use to you. It's always good to know about your enemy's loved ones. I know it comes in handy when someone forgets to pay up."

His stomach hurt slightly, but he ignored it. Instead he took another slow sip of tea. He normally didn't use his own supplies, but a drop of the poppy's nectar went a long way toward easing his conscience.

Feliciano glanced toward Ludwig while speaking to Arthur. "Grazie, Kirkland. That is good information to have." He wondered if Romano already knew about the Russian.

Ludwig moved his hand along his bosses back as Feliciano settled back in to the sofa.

The German now turned to the shorter blonde. "And vhat information do you have on the Byelorussian? "

"Oh Natalya Arlovskaya? She's off her trolley, that one! Spends her nights at the Gold Star, Gone most of the day…hey, look, she terrifies her sister, so…just to give you the gen – the whole picture, that barmy bird runs things over there, the older sister doesn't have anything to do with your rivalry."

That fit in with the memory of the night at the docks. Ludwig turned to Feliciano. "Maybe ve could use this, ja?"

The Englishman looked from the German capo's face to his bosses as the Italian considered the other's words.

Before he could consider how daft he'd have to be to argue with Don Vargas, the British dealer jumped up.

"Not bloody likely! You leave Katyusha out of it – that loony Nat wouldn't stop her pace to care for a soul anyway, not even her bleeding sister!"

He was now standing, and realized he was pointing the still smoking joint at the don's imposing capo_. What is my bloody problem? I must be really arse over elbows for this dish…_

The tall blonde stood up, making Arthur feel the height difference.

"You can not tell the don vhat to do little man. Ve can crush your business anytime ve vant. Keep that in mind." The German spoke low and took the herb from the Brit's hand.

He put it out in his other one; his cold blue eyes slits.

"Blimy…" Arthur heard himself whisper before he realized he was out some product. "Hey, you owe me for that."

Suddenly he was back in the chair, and the chair was toppled over into the floor. _How had things gone so pear shaped all of a sudden?_

Vaguely, he recalled the capo pushing him. Well, he supposed he was lucky to not have been shot for his cheek…

He watched the two men leave, once again wondering how they thought he couldn't tell…

As the dealer giggled a little at the thought, still laying on the floor and not exactly wanting to move to get up, he realized maybe opiates were not the best choice for a confrontation with the mob.

_Note: Buongiorno = good morning, Geliebte= beloved, Dio mio! Dio mio= My God, My God,really arse over elbows for this dish = Head over heels for this hottie, pear shaped= disastrous, a mess._

….

As the mobsters were leaving the doctor's opium den, the professor was watching his brother and the Bolshevik leave the apartment. He was going to finally be alone at the apartment for a little while.

Matthew watched his brother and the Russian he was sort of getting used too, as they left to meet up with Ivan's sisters. Matt still didn't like the idea of his brother dealing with mobsters to fight other mobsters…at least it seemed like Al's plan to get Ivan to convince his younger sister to go home was going to work. Of course she hadn't been able to procure a confession from the Italian mafia…so that left Alfred in the same position he had been in before. Matt shrugged as he leaned on the railing of the second story landing in front of his brother's apartment. One less gang to deal with was always a good thing…

His brother turned to wave as he and the tall Russian stepped off the bottom stair. Alfred hadn't wanted to leave him there alone, but he and Ivan had convinced him that he was probably much safer here than with them in this instance. Natalya Arlovskaya's recent activities had not gone unnoticed by the press or authorities.

Suddenly the roar of an engine coming around the corner drew all three men's attention, as well as turning the head of the Hungarian assassin hidden across the street.

Mathew turned toward the sound, he hadn't expected to see Gilbert today. Sure enough the pale German was pulling into the apartment parking lot on his cherry red BMW R32.

The young professor couldn't help but roll his eyes. Yesterday all he knew about Gil's bike was that it was fast and as red as his eyes…today he could have recited it's every nuance and innovation.

Matt smiled and waved back to the pale man as he dismounted his ride and freed the tiny yellow bird from his pocket; Gilbird flying up to land comfortably on the German's head.

He made to descend the stars to meet him, but stopped suddenly only half way down.

Alfred had stridden forward to greet Gilbert first, Ivan right behind him.

The capo's brother grinned and leaned casually on his bike. "So, finally I meet the famous Agent Jones."

Ugh, he really could have thought of a better introduction… Mathew groaned and stood on the steps, deciding it was best to just let the two over confident men get their disagreements out in the open.

Mathew's twin made no attempt at a friendly 'hello' but instead Alfred crossed his arms and glared. "Does your brother know you're here?" The agent asked sarcastically, privately hoping the answer was no.

Gilbert mirrored Alfred's stance as he answered. "We're busy men, Ludwig and I, we don't tell eachother everything."

The agent looked the barman over. "See that it stays that way."

Mathew sighed again watching his brother try to intimidate the other man. Alfred could certainly be intimidating…but it was clear from his expression that if Gilbert was afraid of anyone, it wasn't the federal agent.

Instead the albino laughed and said, as he began to walk toward the stairs, "Oh ja, because it's so tempting to just tell the whole 'family'."

His brother and the German glared daggers at eachother.

"Bye Al, Ivan – bonne chance!" Mathew finally had to cut the tension and send his brother on his way. He had been worried about Alfred, given the amount of bloodshed surrounding the Byelorussian lately, but Mathew just had to keep reminding himself that this was what his brother did for a living everyday.

The Russian smiled his tiny smile back to Mathew, and then spoke to Alfred, clearly saying something that convinced him to give up the matter, because, his twin simply looked back with an expression that said as clear as if he had spoken, 'I hope you know what you're doing.' Mathew hoped so too.

The Canadian greeted the German as he climbed the stairs. "Guten Aubend, Gilbert. I hadn't expected to see you so soon!" Careful, of where he was Mathew merely smiled at the crimson eyed man instead of taking his hand.

Gilbert, once again showing either tremendous fearlessness or extreme carelessness, looped an arm around Mathew's shoulders as the two men climbed the stairs.

"English, French, and," The pale man winked one crimson eye at his Canadian beau, "Sie sprechen gut Deutsch auch. By the great Fritz – knowing your brother's reputation, I wouldn't have expected such an intellectual! How did you come to speak so many languages?"

The two men now stood on the landing in front of Alfred's apartment. Mathew glanced sidelong at Gilbert. "I don't think you're one to start basing your expectations of people on their brother's reputations, are you Gil?" Mathew laughed as he opened the door, motioning the other in out of the cold.

As Gilbert strolled in and plopped onto the sofa, stretching his arm out along the top, Gilbird fluttering around the room, Mathew turned and chuckling lightly sat down on the sofa beside him. "And I've noticed you saying that a lot, 'the great Fritz', are you talking about Frederich the II? Um, oh, what was the nickname…Der Ault Fritz, King of Prussia from 1740 to 1786?"

Gilbert's eyes grew wide. "Ja! You know about Der Ault Fritz?"

"Oh sure," The Canadian replied leaning into the German's arm. "I know just about everything about the Holy Roman Empire, to the joint Prussian and German Empire of…" Mathew paused, suddenly uncertain, as he had never asked Gilbert about his past. "more recent history, to the current Weimar Republic and Prussian Free State."

"Mein Gott, you're intelligent!" Gilbert had never met a foreigner with much interest in his birthplace. "Have you been? My bruder and I grew up in Berlin! Is that how you picked up German?" He pulled the blonde closer, and peered optimistically into his eyes.

"Um, actually," Matt pulled back slightly, wondering how his next sentence was going to go over. "I, uh.." Well, this was it really, how had he not asked his German man this from the start? It was 1920 for god's sake, the war had just ended a few years ago!

He rushed through it, keeping his blue-violet eyes on Gilbert's crimson ones. "I, uh, actually haven't been, no." The young professor continued. "I teach three classes during the year, two world history courses, which is my usual gig, and one on pre war to contemporary Prussia as a part of the political science department." Mathew found he was unable to look Gilbert in the eyes anymore, afraid to see what he feared might be the truth. "The university asked me to teach that one, since I, well, I did my doctoral dissertation on the history of the Prussian military and as such, when the war broke out I was asked to intercept messages between the central powers and translate them for the allies, particularly in France."

He finally brought his eyes to meet the German's. Mathew was proud of the work he'd done to help the allied forces, and he really hoped Gil hadn't been fighting on the other side.

He leaned forward. "Gil, you've got to tell me, what were you doing during the war?"

Gilbert laughed and pulled Matt back in close. "Don't worry cutie! I've always been in the entertainment business, I leave all that to Ludwig, he's the soldier-boy; I've outgrown that sort of thing." His red eyes twinkled mischievously. "Not that I haven't had my share of brawls, particularly with that snooty Austrian aristocrat that gave you such trouble."

Mathew sighed in relief and relaxed in Gilbert's arm as the little yellow fluff that was Gilbird settled onto his knee.

The albino's heart still skipped a beat seeing his chick take to the other man so easily. Gilbert kicked his feet up on Alfred's coffee table, hoping he scuffed it, and reached into the blonde's wavy hair to twirl the little hairs at the back of Mathew's neck with his fingers. "Yeah, babe, you don't have to worry about me, I had an awesome club back in Berlin, just like I have now."

"So, why'd you come to the states, eh?" Matt asked, scratching his finger under Gilbird's beak; the little chick cheeping happily. 'piyo piyo'

Gilbert was entranced watching the blonde with his little Gilbird. He never thought he'd be one to just be sitting, chatting intimately, Gott! Domestically! He'd been seeing Mathew just about every chance he got for nearly two weeks. He knew the Canadian wasn't staying in town forever, and that had sounded like the perfect fling…only they hadn't slept together yet, and he had recently been realizing how much he'd miss the other man when he returned to his life in Canada. Hm…why _hadn't _they slept together yet, Gilbert asked himself.

_Maybe he just hadn't made enough of a move…yeah, they hadn't really had a chance yet, what with the troubles with the mafia…but they were alone now…_

The pale man sat staring, unaware that the object of his thoughts was repeating the question, and beginning to wonder if he'd lost it.

"Hey- Gil? Uh, Gilbert?"

The German laughed loudly to cover his absent minded moment. "Huh? Yeah, exactly!" He said confidently, grinning broadly.

It was Mathew's turn to laugh now, startling the little bird, who flew up to land on a lamppost. "You weren't even listening!" Mathew poked him in the side. "I said, what did bring you to the states?"

"Oh, hahaa!" Gilbert laughed still grinning ear to ear. "Well, Ludwig did really! He, um," His grin dropped slightly as he realized he'd be bringing up the war again. "Well, my bruder was in the army. He uh, met Feliciano when they were both young, apparently, the young not-yet don was delivering something for his Grandfather to a general in the Italian army." He waved his free hand, dismissively, "I don't know what, I never ask!" and continued, "He didn't have the best of timing however, because the very next day before he had returned from the front," He had to check himself, as he nearly referred to his brother's army as awesome…damnit. That wouldn't fly to well with Matt; Gilbert continued more cautiously. "Before Feliciano had returned from the front, the German army showed up to reinforce the Austro-Hungarians-"

Mathew sat up, stopping him there. "You mean they met at the battle of Caporetto? And Feliciano wasn't even in the military? How the hell did he survive?" 

_Wait, was he actually feeling sympathetic to the mob boss who would happily see his brother dead?_He shook his head to clear it, it was just that he knew the story of the battle so well and history, recent or ancient always caught his interest. Gilbert grinned again, impressed. "I forgot! I guess I don't need to explain the battle at all, do I?" "I still don't understand how he made it…" Mathew shook his head and waited for the rest of the story, reminding himself that the young made man in the tale was the don of Chicago now, and to not feel sorry for him.

Red eyes sparkling at the attention he was receiving, Gilbert continued. "Well, Feliciano was a civilian and unarmed, I mean he was only 17 and I guess his Grandfather didn't think he'd need a weapon, maybe he didn't expect the battle to go the way it did, I don't know. But anyway, Ludwig was only a year older than Feliciano and, my little bruder is more of a romantic than he'd ever admit. I'm sure he was uber-chivalrous." Gilbert paused to wink at Mathew, "I mean I practically raised him!" Seeing the Canadian's wide blue-violet eyes roll amusedly, and the pink flush that suddenly colored his cheeks, the German continued. "So, seeing that Feliciano was unarmed and not in uniform, Ludwig stopped one of his fellow soldiers from killing the little Italian.

Gilbert continued to toy with Mathew's loose blonde waves as the two leaned into the couch facing eachother. It was easy to remember his brother before he joined the mafia, even after, it hadn't been a problem, the only change being that Gilbert didn't usually ask his younger brother about his day; that was until Matt had come into his life. Now he had bigger worries. But for the moment, he recalled how relieved he'd been to hear from Ludwig in Italy.

He went on. "So, one way or another, Ludwig got himself captured a short time after the battle, this so happened to coincide with the decision in Italy to conscript all men of at least18 years old, I'm betting you know all about that." Gilbert smiled, as Mathew nodded. "And I'm sure Ludwig was pretty shocked to see the wealthy Italian that had used his connections and power to spring him. The deal was he could stay in jail and face the firing squad or he could take Feliciano to America. You see, the old man had bigger plans for his favorite grandson."

Gilbert trailed his fingers down from Mathew's soft hair to play along the back of his neck. "He contacted me, told me about the plan, and that it would probably be wise to leave home for a while, at least until things calm down, and we came here. That was just as the war was ending in 1918."

Gilbert decided to take advantage of the moment, when Mathew's attention was so entirely on him. He sat up and taking the Canadian's chin in his other hand, he leaned in close and turned on the charm. "I'm so glad both our bruder's came to Chicago so we could meet, Schöne, regardless of who they are." The German bartender leaned in and kissed the Canadian professor deeply and was pleased to feel the other man returning his passion enthusiastically. When they broke apart, Gilbert ran both hands up through Mathew's hair and sighed happily at the feeling of the other's hands on his back.

Red eyes clouded with possibility as he looked into Mathew's blue. "It may not be stable now, but the war is over and hopefully in a few years I could take you to see the Alps and taste the finest bier brewed on Earth!"

Mathew smiled, and though he blushed, sat up to initiate the next kiss. "I'd like that." When their lips parted, Gilbert took his chance. "So, cutie," He said, holding the Canadian's chin with his thumb and forefinger. "Last time I came by I didn't get to stay that long, do you sleep on your brother's couch or do you have a bed?"

Mathew blushed furiously at Gilbert's intent, but at the thought of what had happened this morning, as he surprised the Russian who had groggily left his brother's room, Mathew laughed out loud. "I sleep in Al's guestroom. Of course, he forgets he even has one! I swear he thinks that door is a second closet!"

"Oh? Show me." The pale man dropped his hands from Mathew's chin to grip the Canadian's as he stood.

The first question that flashed through Matthew's mind was how he could do this without Gilbert seeing his beloved stuffed polar bear. The answer, of course, being that there was no way to hide that fat white stuffed animal that was currently sitting in the middle of the bed. Sometimes, devotion to one's childhood was inconvenient. Well, Gilbert himself wasn't exactly normal so hopefully he'd forgive Matthew his eccentricities.

The second question that flashed through Matthew's mind was how on earth could he bring the German into his bedroom without giving him the false impression that he was ready to take the next step in their physical relationship. It wasn't that he didn't want to sleep with Gilbert, he did very much, but there were too many unresolved feelings and questions. He hadn't known Gil long, and he didn't know what would happen once he returned to Canada.

Matthew, being far more comfortable with his sexuality than Alfred, had a longer history with men. Longer, yes, but not as intense. He had a long history of flirtations, of passionate kisses, and hopeful dates but he'd never quite gone all the way. He kept holding out the somewhat naïve hope that he could find one man to grow old with. Naïve or not, Matthew was attached to the idea and he was used to being alone so he didn't see his convictions being shaken anytime soon. It wasn't like he was holding out for marriage or anything, he laughed internally, but for someone he could conceivably see a future with. Which was difficult since most men he encountered would never be comfortable enough to consider such an admittedly dangerous thing as a long term relationship.

Well, he'd just have to be honest with Gilbert and hope for the best.

There was a little flame of hope in Matthew's heart that dreamed the crazy German might just be crazy enough to give him what he wanted. Maybe, just maybe. Though his hopes would probably be dashed.

"Okay." He said standing up, careful to keep the tremble out of his voice. Gilbird fluttered up to take his place on the German's shoulder as Matthew led him by the hand toward the guest bedroom.

"Oh, that's cute Süßer." Gilbert chuckled into Matthew's ear, enfolding him in a hug from behind as they entered the room and, of course, Gilbert's eyes naturally alighted on Matthew's bear.

Matthew leaned back into the hug, enjoying the German's pleasant scent.

"Yeah..." He laughed nervously "Well, I've had him since I was little so..." He was aware that it wasn't the most masculine thing in the world...

"I like it." Gilbert smiled into Matt's hair as Gilbird decided to make a nest on top of the polar bear's head. Matt blushed as Gilbert ran one hand along his chest, gripping his hip and holding him close with the other.

Well, he was okay with his bear, that was a start.

He turned around to face Gilbert, hooking his arms around the tall white haired man's neck and looking happily up into red eyes. God, he would never get over his German's striking, unique appearance.

" Küss mich." he purred and Gilbert was more than happy to comply. His lips were firm and warm and Matthew felt he could melt into them, his own lips parting for Gilbert's tongue.

Gilbert hooked a strong arm around the Canadian's waist and in one swift movement he had pushed him back onto the bed, earning a muffled cry of surprise from Matthew as Gilbert continued to kiss him.

Gott , Gilbert thought , his Canadian was intoxicating.

He would have never imagined himself in this predicament but here he was. He wanted all of Matthew, he wanted everything. He wanted more of his constant surprises, his depth of knowledge, his shy glances and his whispered German words.

He wanted to wake up next to him, he wanted to shower with him, he wanted to eat breakfast with him and watch Gilbird trying to steal his food, he wanted to know just how cute he was when he slept with his polar bear.

But first off, he wanted to fuck him. He wanted to see what that sweet face looked like when it was lost to lust. He wanted to make the calm professor lose his composure.

He pulled Matthew closer, deepening their kiss.

One hand snuck under Matthew's shirt and ran up his flat stomach and over his ribs. The other was running fingers through Matthew's golden hair.

When they finally had to break for air, Gilbert left Matthew gasping for breathe as he unbuttoned the top of the young Canadian's shirt. He helped himself to the soft curve of Matthew's neck. His hand unbuttoning the rest and running fingers over Matt's sensitive chest as Gilbert nipped and sucked on his soft flesh.

Matthew couldn't stifle a groan, his trembled at the actions of the German between them.

But when Gilbert reached down to unbutton his slacks, Matthew knew he had to act. He couldn't deny that he was painfully aroused and he knew that Gilbert knew it and he could see that the German was similarly affected.

"Wait..." He placed his hands on Gilbert's shoulders.

It took Gilbert a moment to register what had been said and when he did everything came to a grinding halt.

'Wait?' Gilbert thought 'What the hell does he mean, wait? It's been two weeks!'

Immediately his mind was filled with wondering how long the men who'd been with his blue eyed love before him had had to wait and just what the fuck they had that he didn't. He was instantly full of jealousy and frustration and looked to Matthew for an explanation.

Matt wouldn't meet his eyes. "I've never...done this before..."

"oh." Gilbert felt the jealousy rushing out of him. "well don't worry. I can fix that for you, Schätzchen."

Oh yes, he could take care of Matthew's little problem, and with enthusiasm. He moved back to Matthew's neck. The fact that Matthew was a virgin didn't bother him in the slightest. Actually, he was excited about it but he didn't want to scare Matthew off by unleashing the possessiveness that he knew ran in his family.

The truth remained that he'd happily show him the ropes. Literally, if his little Canadian was into it.

"I mean I'm not ready to do this yet." Matthew clarified.

'Oh! Gott verdammt!' Gilbert couldn't help the exasperated sigh that escaped his throat.

He could feel Matthew's nervousness and could see Gilbird glaring at him reproachfully from the top of Mattie's stuffed polar bear. Curse his Canadian for being so sweet.

"That's alright." He said sitting up as the painful erection in his pants chided him that no, it was not alright.

"We don't have to do it now..." He cupped Matthew's jaw "but I am going to take you, verstehst du?"

"Ja..." Matthew mumbled, blushing and turning away from the intensity in Gilbert's crimson eyes. He cleared his throat and quickly changed the subject. "I've been meaning to ask. Would you like to go to a hockey game with me tomorrow night?"

_bonne chance= good luck, Sie sprechen gut Deutsch auch= you speak good German as well., Schöne= beautiful, Süßer= sweetie, Küss mich= kiss me, Schätzchen= little treasure, Gott verdammt= god damnit, verstehst du?= you understand?_

….

As Gilbert fought his urges in order to respect his sweet Canadian's wishes and agreed to go to the game with him the next night, the American agent and his Bolshevik lover were approaching the ornate door of the Gold Star.

Alfred had been surprised to see his strong Russian hesitate at the door. Well, his younger sister was a piece of work, Alfred wasn't exactly looking forward to seeing her either.

Ivan took a deep breath. He'd just have to get it over with. He just pushed Natalya out of his mind and thought of seeing Katyusha again. He turned the knob and entered, Alfred a step behind him.

The girls in the lobby all turned toward the two men and smiled. A few of those not currently engaged stood and began to come forward to great the two potential patrons.

"Vanya!" The madame rushed forward from the hallway that led to her office. "Mo'ee Mladshee braht!" She rushed to her brother and threw her arms around him in a warm embrace. "How I have missed you Vanya, I so hoped you would come see us soon while you were-" She raised a hand to her mouth, realizing she had said too much.

Ivan's smile faded a bit, he still held his beloved older sister by the arms, but pulled back to look her in the eyes. "I have missed you as well Katyusha. But how did you know I was here? I only arrived yesterday afternoon."

The answer came not from Katyusha, but from his younger half sister who stood in the hallway, a bandage around her shoulder and a dagger in her hand.

"Oh you let us know yourself big brother." Natalya stepped forward; her face full of loathing as she looked pointedly to Alfred and then switching abruptly to sugary adoration as she looked up to her brother. "When Katyusha's Anglichanin," She looked toward her sister dismissively, "came in with a bruise." She stepped closer. "Good job big brother, I don't care for him much either."

Something popped in Ivan's mind. _Katyusha's Englishman?_

Both the Russian and the American at the doorway looked to the tall woman, now blushing furiously in Ivan's arms.

Katyusha laughed nervously and slipped from her brother's grip. "Let's go to the parlor, alright?"

"Da." Ivan responded, thinking how he would have done so much more to that obnoxious Brit the night before…

Katyusha led the way, Ivan and Alfred a step behind her. As Alfred made to follow his Russian love into the room, Natalya slipped ahead of him.

"Family only, you understand, agent Jones?" She began to close the door, but was stopped by her brother's hand.

"Nyet Natalya. Alfred goes where I go." Ivan looked somewhat terrified each time he talked to his younger sister, but it seemed the anger he was currently feeling toward the British dealer was overpowering his fear of Natalya at the moment.

The violet eyes man reached out and took his Americanski's hand, pulling the agent past his sister.

Once the doors were closed on the lobby, Ivan stood looking from one sister to the other, seemingly unsure which problem he should deal with first. Alfred stood back, deciding to let Ivan take charge of the situation; he would only jump in if needed.

Ivan decided to speak first to his more reasonable sister. He turned to Katyusha. "I don't want you seeing that Kirkland again. He's bad, a zhopa pod káyfom!"

"But Vanya, you don't know-" Katyusha began quietly before being cut off by her brother.

"I know him better than you think, sestra. Do not see him again Katyusha. If I hear he has continued to be around you I will hurt him." The calm way her brother spoke coupled with the intense glow of hatred in his violet eyes was enough to make Katyusha close her mouth, nod non-committaly and sit on the hearth. Her eyes clouded with thought.

Ivan now turned to his younger sister, who was staring at him in adoration. Before he spoke she moved close and whispered into his ear, making the tall broad man shiver.

"I've been trying to tell her that myself, Vanya….I have missed you terribly big brother."

"N-Natalya," Ivan began, and Alfred was shocked to see him so afraid. This was the same man who had fearlessly faced the central powers in the Great War, the white army and subsequent counter revolutionaries as he saw his nation fall apart and struggle. His Russian had seen a near lifetime of horrors, war, and famine, and he was afraid of his little sister? Alfred would have laughed if he didn't love his Bolshevik so much.

Instead he prodded him on. "Go on Vanya." The use of the diminutive form of Ivan's name did more than he thought two syllables would . It served to bolster Alfred's Russian love's confidence and courage, at the same time that it wholly infuriated his knife wielding sister. The small terrifying woman glared sharply at the agent, who grinned back at her.

"N-Natalya, I came here to speak to you about your organization." From behind him, Ivan felt his Americanski's hand supportively on his shoulder. "I do not think its right Natalya. You have such energy, drive, and ability to get others to fight and to die for you." Ivan continued. "You should be in Belarus or in Russia putting those talents to use against counter revolutionaries!" He could feel his blood began to heat up as he got into the topic that he so cared about.

Alfred had to fight to hold in his own opinions and focus on the big picture as his socialist love went on.

Ivan began to pace the room as Natalya turned in the center watching him. Without his eyes on his sister, Ivan was able to focus and get his words out.

"There is so much that is needed at home Natalya! All this fire that you have could be put to good use to advance the proletariat! Instead you come to America to supplant the already entrenched mafia in hopes of what? To make money? For decadence? To live in extravagance while the common working class struggles and starves? Natalya – how can you not see that this is wrong? Wealth should not be in the hands of the ruthless few, but shared with those in need!"

Alfred watched and listened to Ivan as he continued. Though some of his rhetoric made the capitalist uncomfortable, he had to admit he found his love's passion incredibly attractive, and though it made him feel a bit queasy, some of the points Ivan raised were not entirely crazy… like having a social safety net for the elderly and infirm…all citizens being able to afford to go to the doctor…

Alfred shook his head to clear it. These thoughts were for another time. Right now, he needed to be in the present. It seemed Ivan was wrapping up his speech.

"Is this life what you left your only living family for? For opportunistic capitalism? Is that what you turned your back on our people for Natalya? He looked finally to the center of the room, and then to the hearth. "Katyusha?" His eyes pleaded with his closest sister, the one he understood the most, the one he had thought would share his ideals.

The older sister buried her face in her hands. "I'm sorry Vanya."

The Russian's shoulders slumped a bit, he hadn't wanted to hurt Katyusha's feelings.

"Sestra, I understand. It's ok, you have never had ambition for more than your share." He stepped closer to his older sister who looked up at him. "I have heard that you treat your girls very well. If you are to live in this place of tempting decadence, I trust you to not give in to it…keep giving your worker's an equal share, and living no better than they do.

He turned then to his younger sister.

"Natalya. You…uh," The strong Russian, a captain in the red army, balked at the expression on his sister's face. "Uh, Natalya…you, uh, um…" He looked to Alfred, who grinned back.

Finding the courage to face his sister, Ivan went on. "Natalya – you could be great in the Soviet Union, you could rally people to the cause with your passion, but here, here you have the potential to do much harm, you could be the most ruthless of criminals, you could look out for only yourself. Why, Nata? Do you not care for the common man? Do you want to be as decadent and wasteful as a tsarina?"

For a moment the room was silent. Ivan stood next to his older sister sitting at the hearth, his younger sister standing between him and his love, whom he hoped had not taken too great an offense at his words.

After a full minute of silence, Natalya spoke, her voice wavering dangerously, only Katyusha recognizing the danger that was coming as she stood watching her sister carefully. After Natalya had come home and told her of seeing their brother's long military coat and hat over a chair in the agent's apartment, Katyusha worried what might her younger sister do when faced with both men in the same room….

Ivan, not knowing to what extent his younger sister knew about he and Alfred, made no move, but stood beside Katyusha, waiting for Natalya's reply.

"Vanya…" the petite woman began, her knuckles white as she grasped the hilt of her dagger at her side. "Vanya, my big brother…" She appeared to choke up.

In one moment she had looked up in anguish. "You never thought I might not agree! You never thought to ask ME or Katyusha if we might miss the way of life before your revolution! Many other aristocratic families went to France, went to…anywhere Vanya!" Her blue eyes were overly bright and wide as she voiced opinions she had held in for years. "The Bolsheviks' poisoned your mind against us!, I know mo'ee braht who rode horses with us and our old friends, who was supposed to grow up to take care of us, to see that Katyusha made a good marriage; you were supposed to, to take care of me! We should have been together!"

Ivan was taken aback. "N-Natalya, the revolution would have happened with or without me, and um…Ya lablu tebya mo'ee sestra, but…" He had never wanted to face his sister's unnatural attachment to him, but it seemed like now it had to be done. "I only love you as a sister, as I love Katyusha." Though her expression darkened dangerously, Ivan made himself go on. He had to be strong, not let her run over him as she always had before…honestly, he had never felt more free as he had when he had gone to war. Ivan took a deep breathe and continued, forcing himself to look into her cold eyes. "Nata…I w-would ne-never have been ha-happy to be an aristocrat. It wa-as always my intention t-to liberate the serfs and p-pay them for their work." He whispered. "always."

The revolutionary brother between his sisters, one unashamedly tsarist, the other at best, good hearted and ambivalent, looked to his staunchly capitalist lover and nearly laughed at his situation.

His odd emotion lasted only a second, however before his younger sister howled in rage and spun to face the surprised American beside the door.

"You! You have done this to my Vanya!"

"Wh-what?" Alfred stammered. The Byelorussian didn't make any sense.

"My Vanya would have been proud to see that I had Chicago for us, that I had done all this for him, for us!" Natalya raised her dagger ominously and advanced on the agent who was tempted to pull his gun from his jacket. Alfred looked to his love who was frozen where he stood. "Vanya, um, your sister…"

"How dare you call him that, you blyad!" She threw herself at Alfred who only just ducked, leaving Natalya to run headlong into the wall. She turned, completely unphased and hurled her dagger at him.

Their positions reversed, Alfred now stood where she had, Ivan behind him. Apparently a knife flying toward his man had been the catalyst to shake Ivan out of his immobility.

Before the dagger hit home, the Russian soldier had imposed himself between his murderous sister and his lover. Ivan caught the knife and threw it to the ground at his feet. "Nyet Natalya. I make my own decisions. Do not think to take your anger out on Alfred."

The younger sister ran to her brother and began beating her fists in a tantrum against his chest. She screamed in high pitched Russian and Alfred stood awkwardly beside Katyusha, unable to understand the words being said, as most of the Russian he knew consisted of sweet nothings. It was not until Natalya gasped for air and continued now pointing around Ivan and shaking with anger that Ivan said something that made Katyusha turn her head to Alfred and Natalya to drop to the floor in abject despair.

"Nyet , Natalya , ya lablu yego, razve vy ne ponimayete? Ya lablu Alfred!"

Katyusha turned to Alfred a moment before Ivan. "You and my brother are in love?"

Alfred had heard his name, and recognized some of the words as ones Ivan had said, but never translated… He looked to Katyusha. "What did he say?" Ivan had just turned to look to his American. Natalya beat her fists and feet against the floor screaming more obscenities, she had thankfully not found her knife yet, which lay a few feet away.

Katyusha did not answer, but stepped away from the hearth as her brother approached.

"I said," Ivan took a breath, it may be too early, his americanski may not feel the same, but he had just declared it in Russian so loudly that all the women in his sister's brothel now knew. The man his declaration had been about had the right to know how he felt about him. "I said I love you." Ivan took his Americanski by the shoulders and kissed him hard in front of his sisters. "I love you Alfred. Ya lablue tebya mo'ee americanski, even if our love is hopeless I love you."

Alfred looked into his Russian's violet eyes. He had realized he loved Ivan the night before, but had not known exactly how the Bolshevik felt about him. They had chemistry and affection for eachother sure, but to hear that Ivan loved him, well, it thrilled Alfred's heart more than he had ever felt.

The agent hadn't realized he was staring and his Russian love was waiting anxiously for his reply. Violet eyes shaded in worry, Ivan looked to his feet.

Alfred had not known his strong, sure, and possessive partner to be so insecure.

The American threw his arms around the Russian's neck and kissed him with exuberance.

"I love you too Vanya!"

Katyusha looked suddenly to her sister who had stopped screaming and was now watching her brother lift the American agent off his feet as the two men kissed deeply, lost in themselves.

Katyusha rushed forward to pick up the dagger from the floor before her sister could see it. "Bozhe mo'ee Vanya – get out of here!" The older sister turned to her brother.

Ivan took a look to Natalya and physically shivered. "I- I'm sorry Nata, that's the way it is." He mumbled before pulling Alfred behind him out the door.

Natalya lay back on the carpet of her sister's parlor, she didn't even move to try to find her dagger. Katyusha just barely heard her sister's words as Natalya whispered into the floor. "I'll kill him. I will kill him…I swear, or I will die trying."

_Mo'ee mladshee braht= my younger brother, Anglichanin= Englishman, zhopa pod káyfom= slang term, basically stoned asshole, blyad= whore,_

_ya lablu yego, razve vy ne ponimayete? Ya lablu Alfred= I love him, don't you understand, I love Alfred, Bozhe mo'ee: My God!_

...

Later in the evening as the sun set fully, the agent and his Bolshevik beau returned to Alfred's apartment to find the capo's brother still there. As Mathew was making dinner for four and glared pointedly at his brother, Alfred set down at the table with a dramatic sigh. Knowing the pale man across from him ran a club infamous for being a safe haven for the mafia, and for selling booze, though he had no evidence, the agent swallowed his pride painfully and extended his hand across to Gilbert, while Ivan leaned into the kitchen to see what the young history professor was making.

"Mmm. Meat pie?" Ivan looked back toward Alfred from the kitchen entrance. "Do you have any sour cream, lyoubovnik?"

Before Alfred could even reply that he actually had no idea, a gasp sounded from inside the kitchen followed by Mathew's scandalized voice. "You do not put sour cream on Tourtiere!"

_Lyoubovnik= one of many ways to say 'Lover', Tourtiere= a French Canadian spiced pork pie._

...

While the four men laughed together and began to get to know eachother better than their reputations or stereotypes, the bartender's younger brother was on his way back toward his boss and lover's penthouse. Ludwig had intended to talk to Gilbert and check to see that he wasn't still seeing the agent's brother. His older brother hadn't been at home, or the Roost… Ludwig pointedly avoided going by Jones' place to see if his brother's bike was there. What could he do if it was? He couldn't just walk in and drag Gilbert out…He'd just have to talk to him about it tomorrow. He had left a note when he picked up more ammunition that he needed to talk to him, and that he would be home the next day.

Ludwig arrived at Feliciano's building and turned off the ignition. The blonde's brow was furrowed in worry. Romano was being more unpredictable, Arlovskaya was still out there, alive, they still needed to get to Jones, and so many things hinged on no one knowing about he and Feliciano. Ludwig was worried about spending a second night with Feliciano, afraid it would be pushing their cover too much.

He combed a stray hair back with his hand and sighed. But how could he say no? Of course he wanted to spend every night with his Italian angel. To wake up each morning with his petite Feliciano in his arms…it would be heaven. Unfortunately, the pragmatic German knew his love also being his boss, and the high profile Don Vargas at that, there were always men in the lobby, and usually outside Feliciano's rooms. Only on nights when he was there was there no need for further guards.

Sighing and leaning back in his seat, Ludwig's thoughts continued their course through his mind. That was exactly the reason it was dangerous. The rest of the organization knew when he was there, knew each time he stayed overnight. Not every night would lend itself to an excuse. But of course he had said yes. Of course he would say yes again.

Exiting his car at last and walking through the lobby, seeming for all the world just a man devoted to his job, Ludwig got into the elevator and pushed the button for Feliciano's floor. He stood straight and tall in the elevator as it ascended. Maybe he was pessimistic, but he worried. Thinking of the worst possible situation had kept him alive. It had kept him alive during the war, during the uncomfortable first year in America when standing out as German wasn't pleasant, and it had kept him and Feliciano alive all these past three years that he had known the petite Mafioso.

The tall man closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall of the elevator. In his mind's eye he saw Feli's caramel eyes open wide for him, saw his soft lips part as his love sighed, Veh~.

"Gott verdammt." Ludwig brought his fist up to his forehead and then dropped it in resignation. He loved Feliciano. He wanted to spend each night holding the smaller man in his arms. Ludwig knew he'd always say yes when Feliciano asked him to stay.

As the bell dinged to announce it had reached the top floor, Ludwig calmed himself. It was simple really. Only the few who knew would know, if anyone else found out, he'd kill them. If the other families came against his Feli, he'd take them all down. There was no limit to the amount of blood he would shed to keep his Feliciano safe and in his position. 

_But, rarely does any don make it to old age, and they don't have a secret like you and Feli do. _ The voice of his rational mind told him.

Ludwig answered it vocally as he stood before Feliciano's door. " I vill not accept defeat."

He never had before, well, maybe once if he was honest with himself, but Feliciano had been there to pull him out then, and Ludwig would always be there for his italian love. He turned the knob and opened the door, and was immediatly greeted by the petite mafioso who smiled and winked to him from across the room. "Ludwig! Look who's visiting us!"

The Japanese man stood and inclined his head politely to his german friend. "Kon'nichiwa Ludwig-kun." The dark haired yakuza member extended his greeting.

Ludwig nodded back to the smaller man. "Hallo Kiku." The German noticed the edge of a new tattoo peaking from the hem of the other man's white silk collar. "A new tattoo?" He asked as he took a seat beside Feliciano, and Kiku returned to his seat across from them.

"Yes, thank you for noticing." Kiku smiled lightly across at him.

The three men continued in this way making polite conversation until Feliciano began to grumble about his brother.

"What do you think is the problem, Feliciano-kun?" the Japanese man leaned forward in his seat.

Feliciano remembered that for some inexplicable reason the polite, quiet Kiku and his loud, rude, fratello had gotten along well when last his yakuza friend had visited. It had to be a testament to the Japanese man's patience. "Veh!" the Italian sighed "I don't know kiku! He seems to be taking everything so personally!"

"That is his way." The dark haired man agreed.

Ludwig had his suspicions but they were completely unfounded until he had a chance to talk to Gilbert, and so he didn't voice them just yet. He wasn't even sure he believed them himself. It had just been the _way_ his Feli's brother had talked about the Canadian that gave him pause.

"Veh~ When will that pasta get here?" Feliciano asked under his breathe before looking up and smiling to Ludwig. "Oh! I forgot to tell you amo- Ludwig," Feliciano caught himself. Kiku was a friend, but was he that close? Feliciano went on, "I ordered some dinner!" The Italian's eyes twinkled in delight. I got you something special~ Kielbasa and sauerkraut from your brother's favorite place." Feliciano leaned in whispering, "und bier" trying out more German words, aware that Ludwig loved the way the words sounded with his Italian accent.

The blonde blushed and tried to contain it. Feliciano had nearly slipped up. _Was he trying to on purpose?_ Ludwig looked to their Japanese friend as he replied to his love. "Danke, That sounds good, Feliciano."

Kiku sat in his chair looking from the Italian to the German. He felt embarrassed for the two men as he took in Feliciano's questioning look toward his capo, and Ludwig's clear distress and clenched jaw. He was far too good of a friend to allow them to feel so embarrassed. The Japanese man was a bit older and wiser than his European friends and so leaned forward in his seat and spoke softly.

"I am glad to see you two are not in the dark any longer."

It took a moment for the capo to understand just what Kiku was saying. The Mafioso had recognized it right away and smiled broadly. "Kiku – you knew?" Feliciano nearly bounced in his seat.

"Yes." Kiku responded simply before turning to face Ludwig who looked as though he was about to have a seizure. "Do not worry, your secret is safe with me. You have both always shown me nothing but respect."

The German's heart began to beat again. Ludwig let his breath out slowly in relief and thanked his friend; The capo was just telling the shorter dark haired man that he had indeed always respected him when the young don suddenly leapt up hearing the phone ring. "The Pasta!" Feliciano cried and went to answer it.

"Si? Si. Inviarlo su!" He happily hung up the phone after telling the concierge to send the delivery up.

Not wanting to be an inconvenience, Kiku stood to excuse himself. "I'll be going now; I do not wish to intrude." He waved a hand to Feliciano who had begun to invite him to eat with them, saying he could order out anything he liked. "No, no Feliciano-kun, I think I may call over to Romano and see how he is doing. Maybe I can offer my help with the trouble he is having."

"Veh~ Oh would you? Grazie Kiku!" Feliciano said, looping his arms around the still seated capo's neck from the side of the sofa and looking across to his Japanese friend.

"Ja, danke. Romano vill accept your help more than ours." Ludwig spoke seriously though his face had flushed pink at the feel of his Italian boss's arms around his neck.

The capo and his Mafioso said goodnight to their yakuza friend and Kiku left the lovers to have dinner alone.

A half hour later, the Japanese man was outside his friend's home. He'd called ahead and was glad to notice the light on at the porch, which illuminated the front yard so that he could step carefully around the tomato patch which was covered in protective fabric to keep the plants safe from the winter. Kiku stepped along the sidewalk to the door.

The made men passing time in the villa's foyer stood and opened the door for Kiku as he entered.

"Signore Vargas is on-a the phone, but you can-a go ahead in," The leader of the group motioned to the living area off to the side and Kiku nodded in appreciation before pushing open the door.

Kiku was by nature a quiet man, and it was apparent that Romano didn't hear him enter as the mafioso's brother continued his conversation.

"Just-a leave-a that to me. You just-a make-a sure to follow him all day; as soon as-a he is alone," Romano continued, his voice tinged in anger "Take-a him back to your place, we'll-a work from-a there."

"Si."

"Si, I'll speak with-a mio fratellino after."

Kiku didn't intend to eaves drop and cleared his throat. Romano turned toward him and then back to the receiver he held in his hand. "Addio Elizaveta." He hung up the phone and turned toward his friend. "Kiku! Its-a been a long time-a." The loud Italian man smiled to his friend. "Have-a you eaten? I was-a just a going to order pizza."

…..

Monday, Dec 20th:

Early the next morning, while the Mafioso and the capo woke together and held onto the minutes before they would have to hide their affections again, the federal agent dressed for work while his Bolshevik lover chatted amicably about Russian history with Alfred's brother in the apartment's small kitchen. Mathew was washing the dishes after the breakfast of pancakes and bacon they had all shared. As Ivan helped dry them and put them away, something his brother had maybe done twice in his life, the Canadian professor decided the tall intimidating Russian wasn't so bad.

"Da, Tsar Peter the Great did bring many improvements to Russia, but" Mathew noticed Ivan's expression darkening and suddenly wondered if bringing up any tsar had been a good idea. The Russian continued, "He did much to keep the serfs tied to the land, the harsh divides between the classes only increased."

The professor paused, trying to come up with something to say that would steer the conversation away from the dangerous realm of politics.

He was saved by his brother who laughed as he came around the corner fastening his tie. "You did not start talking about Russian kings, did you Mattie? Really?" His boisterous brother laughed again, throwing his arms around both men at the sink, "Why don't you two talk about…oh, I don't know… you both like hockey, and Matt, you've got to try blini! They're like pancakes! Alright, hockey and pancakes: near situation averted!"

Alfred grinned, squeezing one arm around his brother's shoulders and planting a kiss on his Russian beau's cheek. "Now, where did I leave that shoe…" the agent strode into the living room and bent to peer beneath his furniture just as a knock sounded against the door.

"Aha!" the blonde straightened his glasses and pulled the errant shoe from beneath the sofa as his brother went to answer the door.

"Um…Al?" Mathew's voice sounded worried.

"Yeah?" Alfred set the shoes aside and moved to stand beside his brother in the open doorway. Mathew held an envelope in his hand; the lettering on it spelling the familiar name Брагинский in Cyrillic.

"Vanya, you have a letter." Alfred took the envelope from Mathew and waved it over head.

"M-me?" Alfred turned, surprised to hear fear in the Russian's voice.

Looking quizzically at his love, as Ivan's violet eyes stared at the envelope without opening it, Alfred nearly ignored his brother pulling at his sleeve.

"Alfred, look, there's someone there." Mathew wasn't one for paranoia so Alfred did tear his eyes away from Ivan as the other finally began to open the letter.

The agent peered across the street where his brother pointed. Sure enough there was a figure in a long dark coat. He was standing as though watching them; Alfred knew he could see him looking back at him and the man still stood there. It was unnerving, he was used to criminals who would immediately flee the scene of a crime, not just stare back at him.

Still without his shoes or coat, Alfred stepped out the door, intent on confronting the figure across the street. He stopped abruptly at his Bolshevik lover's words.

"Alfred, I must go home."

The agent turned back in the doorway. Ivan stood beside the coffee table, staring at the letter in his hands; his eyes hollow.

"What?" Alfred asked. He turned back to the outside again to see that the figure had disappeared. He pushed it to the back of his mind for the moment, and returned fully to the apartment, closing the door on the freezing Chicago wind. "What do you mean? What's wrong?" The American went to the Russian and looked down on the letter Ivan now held loosely in his hands.

"Um..Vanya," Alfred began, wanting to banish the hollow deadened look from his love's eyes. "Vanya, wanna tell me what that says and why you have to go home so soon?"

"Da. I suppose I need too. First, mo'ee derogoy, I am sorry I have not been honest with you." Ivan sighed, looking up from the letter to meet his Americanski's worried blue eyes. "I was denied an exit visa to America…I was supposed to be in France." He looked back down and translated from the letter in a monotone voice:

_ Captain_ _Braginski,_

_We are aware through our contacts in Paris, that you never arrived. _

_You have been under suspicion of counter-revolutionary sympathies for some time and you may have realized you have been under surveillance. Cpn. Braginski, this letter serves as official court summons to Moscow. You are considered a suspect of desertion from the Red Army and if you do not return for the trial you will be declared an enemy of the state and a defector. You have this chance to return and explain yourself to clear your name. _

He looked up from the summons. "My trial is set for the 30th of December."

"Well, you aren't going." Alfred stated as though it was obvious.

Mathew slid past the two men unnoticed on his way back to the kitchen to let his brother and the Russian have their privacy.

"Mo'ee miliy, I must go back. I am no defector; I have to clear my name." Ivan stood perfectly still. _Had I thought I would not have been found out? When would I have gone home anyway? _His heart had known all along he would be in America with his Alfred until he was found. His heart knew this entire endeavor had been suicidal at best. His only hope was to be able to clear his name somehow at the trial.

"No! Don't you know those trials are a sham?" Alfred was beginning to feel panicked at the look of resignation in Ivan's eyes and the defeated sound to his voice. The American stepped up closer to his love, and took the Russian by the shoulders. "How did they find you? Who was that man?" The blonde shook his head, and went on, not waiting for the answers. "It doesn't matter. You're not going back!" While Ivan merely stood there, violet eyes staring into blue as though memorizing them, Alfred shouted to his brother, who was attempting to melt into the kitchen wall. "Matt – Call in for me, tell them I'm sick, throwing up all over, 'can't come in."

As his brother ran to the phone and began dialing the bureau of investigation, Alfred turned back to his dejected Russian.

"You aren't going. Tell me you aren't going!" The agent pulled the Bolshevik in close by his scarf.

"I have no choice. I have to go, Alfred." Ivan looked down at his American love. "That man would have been Cheka. He is likely not alone; they will come for me if I do not go. I've put you both in danger." Ivan continued to gaze down sadly into Alfred's eyes. "The trial is my only hope to clear my name." The Russian continued, "And if I do not comply, the Cheka will go after my sisters; they will go after you."

Alfred squared his shoulders, still holding onto Ivan's scarf. "I don't care! Let them come, you're not going!" The tears were threatening to spill from his eyes and Alfred blinked them back as he went on, "My God, Ivan! They've been spying on you; they had you under surveillance 'for some time'! How can you hope to clear your name? Even at a real trial?"

"Alfred," The violet eyed man pulled away from his capitalist love. "I have to go. Did you not hear me? You are all in danger if I stay. I will prove to them that I have not defected, I will show them I love the motherland now even more than ever. Afterall, have I divulged any military secrets to you? If they have been watching me, they will know I have not." Ivan walked past Alfred to the window. He looked out, searching for any sign of the Cheka operative.

"No, you don't get it…" Alfred's voice was small as his heartbeat raced, thundering in his ears at the panic he felt as he listened to Ivan's words. "You only know your propaganda! They call these trials, 'trials' but in reality they'll force a confession from you behind closed doors!"

The American intelligence agent turned his Russian man around to face him as his voice rose, "Ivan, I know – I've read the files, we have spies, They will torture you or someone you love to get a confession! If you don't confess, you will disappear. They'll kill you, Vanya, whether publically or in the dark, they'll kill you!"

Alfred threw his arms around Ivan's neck and unable to stop the tears, he cried, "Don't go, you _can't_ go, I can't lose you already!"

"I…I have to, mo'ee Americanski. If I do not at least try to clear my name, I will never be able to return to Russia."

Alfred couldn't believe what he was hearing. Didn't Ivan understand what he was saying to him? "Don't you understand?" He choked out around the tears he hated, but was unable to hold in. Alfred pulled back, his arms still around the Russian's neck, Ivan tightened his grip around Alfred's lower back as the American faced him.

"Pazhaloosta, do not cry mo'ee lyoubov." Ivan brought one hand up from Alfred's back to brush the tears from his eyes as his American had done for him so many nights ago in Moscow.

"But you don't get it!" Alfred cried furiously, more tears falling down his cheeks, "They will kill you! If they've been keeping tabs on you, they know about us; God Ivan, do you think your Soviet Union will be alright with a captain of their army being in love with an American intelligence agent, because I know my nation won't! And nevermind that we're both men!" Alfred gave up fighting the tears and held Ivan tightly again, he rested his head on the Russian's shoulder so the other man couldn't see him cry.

The blonde's trembling shoulders gave him away all the same. Ivan closed his eyes and held his American love close. It was hard to imagine that only yesterday, he had heard Alfred say he loved him and all the world seemed filled with possibility. _Loved him, he loved him. _

Ivan felt the tears threaten to spill from his eyes as well and wanted nothing more than for Alfred to stop crying. He pulled away and tried to look anywhere but into his love's watery blue eyes. "Alfred. I can not bring more troubles into your life. It is because I love you, that I must go home."

"NO! That just doesn't make sense! I can handle anything that gets thrown at me! I don't care about the Cheka or anyone else!" Alfred tried to take hold of Ivan's scarf as the Russian began to pace, but just missed it.

Ivan's fists were clenched. Regardless of whether Alfred was right about the trials and the hopelessness of his return, Ivan couldn't imagine never being able to go home to Russia…never be able to one day take his American to see the beauty that was his homeland in the summer, when the sunflowers were in bloom. _It had all been a dream. How could he have ever thought anything like that could happen?_

At the same time, how could he imagine leaving Alfred, never to be able to see his bright blue eyes and easy smile, never to hear his laugh or argue politics…

Watching his Russian's back as he paced the room, fists clenched, the agent knew he wouldn't be able to convince his love to stay. Ivan was as stubborn as Alfred was himself. _This just couldn't be happening._ If Ivan went back to Russia, he'd die. _He'd die._

Alfred had never had a problem he couldn't fix; he'd never felt so helpless.

Feeling his knees grow weak as the weight of it all crashed down on him, the usually dauntless agent dropped to his knees, and gave in to the pain in his heart. His glasses fell to the floor beside him as he knelt, his head in his hands.

Ivan turned back to the living room as he paced. He stopped short.

The Russian's heart dropped from his chest and left a cold pit where it should be. Alfred, his strong, beautiful, opinionated, American was on his knees. Crying. Crying because of him; because he didn't want to lose him. Regardless of ideology, his beloved capitalist didn't want to lose him.

Ivan's fists unclenched; his violet eyes went wide and he rushed to his love, dropping to his knees himself to take Alfred in his arms.

Hot tears fell from his eyes as well as Ivan held Alfred close and felt the other man's shoulders shake as the American tried to catch his breath.

"I'll stay." I'll stay mo'ee lyoubov. Stop crying. I'll stay."

…

_End of Chapter 10._

_One Question! – Is there interest in reading a nice long (about the size of a good sized chapter) oneshot of the backstory of when Ludi met Feli on the horrific battle field and subsequent capture, and travel? Want one for Ivan and Alfred and the plane wreck too? If you are interested tell me in the review! They would be separate fics that I would upload as companions to Its Just Business._

_Also, I think I got all the new words I hadn't used before translated. The Italian, I tried to explain as it happened. Anything you didn't understand of course, just ask! I hope you all enjoyed this very long chapter and that it will be sufficient to cover the wait while I do nothing but study! :D_

_Well, I am off to work now. Ugh. LOL_

_THANK YOU FOR READING – I LOVE YA ALL! Really, all the faves, alert-additions, and above all reviews really keep this busy girl writing! *hugs*_


	11. Chapter 11

_Note: Thank you all for your patience as I focused on my studies! Happy to report all good grades! Yay! Now I can get back to the world of fan fiction and my not so little mafia story! _

_Extra love for all you sweet reviewers and to my sis who as always is the Gil to my Ludi, making our conversations soooo much fun to fill out! (oh, you'll have to wait to read to find out!) And Greeneyes, I love how we've been collabing the Pru/Can all along, and I know you didn't get to do as much this time around, but what you did contribute was as perfect as ever!_

_Alright, without further ado - Chapter 11!_

20th of December. Not yet 9am.

The American agent and his Bolshevik beau held onto eachother on the livingroom floor; they felt the immense danger their love had brought them for the first time, understanding that the weight of the Soviet Union could not be ignored. The lovers didn't think for a moment that the cheka were the least of their concerns.

Outside in the winter wind, two women stood unknown to each other, each with an eye on the second story apartment. The Hungarian wrapped her long brown suede coat tightly and sipped at the thermos of coffee she had brought with her. She wondered at the shadowy man who had left something at the door. From a parallel alley across from the agent's apartment, the other, a platinum blonde, with a bow atop her long pale locks, knew what the man was and what he must have left. She watched him with steely blue eyes as he joined his fellow spy/assassin. So this is what the Agent had done to her brother.

Inside the apartment unaware of the enemies arranged around him, Alfred swallowed hard and dried his eyes with the back of his hand. "You w-will?"

His Russian love tightened his hold on the American agent, pulling Alfred closer into his chest. "Da," Ivan sighed. "My life may not be long, mo'ee Americanski, but I will spend it with you."

The blonde lifted his head from his love's chest and pulled away slightly as he blinked back the remnants of tears. Alfred, still on his knees, faced his Russian man, sitting on the floor. "Vanya," He began as he reached his hands up into Ivan's silvery hair. "Your life _is_ gonna be long." The American forced his lips into a grin as he made himself believe the words he spoke. "Didn't we kick ass back in the war? What are a few assassins?"

_What are a few assassins…_ Alfred's words sunk into Ivan's mind and he chuckled at the seriousness of their situation and his Americanski's ability to laugh it off. God, he loved him. Ivan pulled Alfred back close again, the agent's hands falling from the Russian's hair to wrap loosely around his neck as their lips met. Each man tasting the other's tears that had flowed so freely a moment before.

The click of the receiver hanging up reminded Alfred that he and Ivan weren't alone. Pulling back from the kiss, he looked up to see his brother's anxious face.

"What?" the agent asked as he and his love stood. Alfred moved toward his twin, straightening his tie and smoothing the wrinkles from his shirt.

"Um, sorry Al, but they said you need to come in, at least for just a little while. Something about those missing four hours of surveillance…" Mathew went on, "they wouldn't tell me."

Alfred sighed heavily. Work was just not what he wanted to focus on today at all. Although learning anything about the Hungarian assassin who was out for his brother would be good. "God damnit." He turned back to his Russian love who had picked up the letter again and was looking down at it blankly.

"You promise, you'll be here when I get back?"

Violet eyes looked up into blue. "Da. I will not leave you, mo'ee lyoubimee."

The agent embraced his love again and knowing how much the prospect of not returning to his homeland hurt the other man, Alfred kissed him lightly on the cheek, intent to do the best he could to make Ivan happy in America.

After shoving his feet into his shoes, and throwing on his coat, the agent looked back at the two people most important to him. "I won't be gone long, they sure as hell can't keep me past noon!" He chased his own worries away and grinned radiantly. "See ya bro!, Love ya Vanya! Remember," he pointed at them and laughed as he continued, "hockey and pancakes, not politics!"

Alfred took off down the stairs two at a time intent on getting in and getting out of the office as fast as possible. He raced past the two women who watched from the alley, he was barely missed by the two men as the cheka were circling the block. Unaware of his waning good fortune the agent hopped aboard the "L" and made his way to work.

20th December, 1920. Noon.

The tall blonde walked beside the shorter brunette, his hands securely in the pockets of his long dark coat to keep himself from reaching out an arm to wrap around his love's slender waist. Since their relationship had progressed, Ludwig found he had to fight harder and harder to exert his usual amount of self control. Oh, how the German wanted to hold the Italian close, to show the world that Feliciano was his…

Of course Ludwig knew he couldn't do that.

As the two walked along the bustling downtown sidewalk toward the courthouse they appeared for all the world as nothing more than the Don and his capo. Feliciano was needed to sign a building contract on a piece of land that would become a new hotel, the basement of which would serve as a casino and speakeasy. After the boss's business at the courthouse was complete, the two men would be meeting with the other four heads of the families. Each few months Feliciano met with the other men to address any questions they had for how he was running things. Ludwig was always at his side to ensure no one forgot that their places were on the rungs below his love.

The petite Mafioso strode up the stairs only a step ahead of his capo. His head held high, the Italian entered the courthouse as he did each time the over zealous agent Jones had evidence against him, striding forward with the practiced air of confidence, knowing he had people on the payroll at each level and the agent could never get anything to stick.

Feliciano spared a glance up at his taller love; it was so hard not to loop his arm in with Ludwig's; so difficult to fight the urge to lean into him as they walked. The injustice of it all…the petite mafioso's step carried him closer to his capo, just closer without quite touching.

As the two mobsters looked to eachother for a stolen second, the harried government agent rushed from the elevator doors and looking to his watch, Alfred Jones ran straight into Feliciano Vargas.

"Vatch yourself Jones." Alfred looked up immediately, recognizing the Don's right hand man by his voice. The agent rested a hand on the gun concealed just inside his jacket.

"Or what? You'll have me 'bumped off'?" Alfred's blue eyes were hard as he met the lighter blues of the capo and then the caramel browns of his boss.

Ludwig said nothing, but glared at the slightly shorter man, knowing he didn't need to speak to intimidate. Feliciano beside him sighed and smiled.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm simply a legitimate business man, Veh~ I don't know how these rumours about me start." The Italian lied easily.

The agent looked to his pocket watch again, and spoke without even meeting the other's eyes. "I bet you know how they end." He jabbed a thumb toward the taller German. "And you, just what business are you in?" Both sets of cool blue eyes were slits as the former soldiers faced eachother, on opposite sides of a different war. The American agent faced the German capo and Ludwig responded in a low voice.

"Vould you like to know first hand, Agent Jones?"

Before Alfred could respond, Feliciano stepped between the two blondes, and put a finger to the Agent's badge, pushing lightly against his chest. "Veh, If you have more questions for my associate or I, maybe you bring a warrant, hm?"

Deciding the conversation was going just as all previous interrogations had with the elusive crime boss, Alfred said nothing, but grunted his answer, looked to his watch again and began to stride away from the two men.

The capo's voice grated on his nerves, as Ludwig spoke up louder behind him. "Und vhere are you going in such a hurry? Have someone vaiting for you, someone who came a long vay to see you?"

Feliciano smiled up at his love, using the knowledge they had just gained about the other man to hit a soft spot. That the agent would know they knew would make him wonder what else they could know…it would make him paranoid to know how they knew.

It seemed the German's words had worked. The American agent stopped short in front of the revolving glass door of the courthouse and turned slowly back to face the two mobsters.

Alfred's heart raced in his chest. They already knew about his brother, of course Matt had come along way to see him from Canada, but really…the northern border wasn't that far from Illinois. Surely they couldn't know about Ivan. How could they? His relationship was certainly not something he wanted his enemies to have any proof of, it could be used to ruin both he and Ivan's lives…as though they weren't already on thin ice…

He stood his ground, letting his logical mind try to override his instant worry. The part of his mind that was the agent, the detective, the spy, was hard at work to override the impulsive man his heart controlled who wanted to immediately ask the German how he knew and then shoot him before he could tell anyone else. As Alfred's mind battled his heart, it noticed the way the boss looked to his capo. How close the Italian stood to the taller man. Remembered that this capo was always around his boss…

Really…how had he not noticed before?

He might be wrong, but he doubted it. If he was right, Alfred could ensure the mafia couldn't use any knowledge of Ivan to blackmail him. He walked calmly back toward the two men in the center of the lobby. With concerted effort, the agent kept any worry or doubt from his voice.

"'Just going to meet an _associate_ of my own for lunch. _Just like you._" He stressed the words, filling them with meaning the other men would understand if he was right, and judging by their reactions he was.

Alfred turned now, and grinning, strode away through the revolving door, away from the Capo's dark, yet anxious expression and the Mafioso's now wide eyes.

….

After finishing their business at the courthouse, the two men walked quickly through the midday wind toward Ludwig's car. Once inside, Feliciano turned in the passenger seat toward his German love, as Ludwig made to start the engine.

"Veh! Ludwig, how does he know?"

The capo left the key in the ignition, taking his boss's smaller hand in his own, the blonde turned to look the petite Italian in the face. "Feli, I don't know."

Ludwig thought through the short list of those in the know about he and Feliciano. Gilbert, Romano, Kiku. None of them would have talked, or even had occasion to speak with the agent…except Gilbert. _Nein, surely he would not tell the agent. But would he tell Jones' brother?_ Ludwig wanted to believe his older brother had listened to him and stopped seeing the Canadian, but in his heart, he doubted it. From the way the apartment looked each time Ludwig stopped by, he could tell his brother was at home as much as he was these days.

Ludwig shook the thoughts from his mind; he wouldn't allow Jones' words to do to him what he had set out to do to the agent. He wouldn't let Jones make him paranoid and anxious.

Feliciano was clearly worried; the Italian sighed and leaned against the seat as he looked to his love.

"Do not vorry, Feli." Ludwig tried to put him at ease; Feliciano would need all his confidence for the meeting with the other families. "He can not use anything against us, ve are at a stalemate. Ve have information on him just as he has on us. Ve need only to get proof in order to maintain the upper hand." The German's own worries faded a little at his words, and Ludwig reached a hand into his Italian love's mahogany hair as he leaned in toward Feliciano, glad for the private alley they had parked in behind the courthouse away from prying eyes.

Feliciano sighed into Ludwig's kiss, and scooted closer to the larger man, allowing his strong capo to wrap him in both arms. "Veh~ you're right Ludwig." The petite Mafioso sighed happily as they broke for air and laying his forehead into the other man's broad chest, he continued, "You always think of everything!"

Ludwig looked down intently at his love, and allowed a slight smile before speaking seriously as the Italian sat back in his seat. "You have enough spies, ve can get one of them to get photographic proof, then he vill have to keep our secret if he vants us to keep his."

Feliciano grinned happily, "Si! I'll talk to Romano about it later tonight since the agent is his focus." The slight Italian took the German's free hand in his as Ludwig began to drive away toward little Italy. "Veh~ Lets just hurry up and get this meeting over with, amore, so we can relax."

"Ja." Ludwig agreed, leaving his hand to rest in Feliciano's on the petite man's thigh as he steered with the other.

….

Feliciano noticed his brother's red lancia theta torpedo as soon as he and Ludwig pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant where the other four heads of the families were already gathered.

"Veh! Romano is already here." Feliciano lamented the time bumping into the agent had taken as he and Ludwig made their way toward the front. "I hope he hasn't started an argument yet..Veh~" He sighed, pulling his wool coat close against his slight frame.

Ludwig said nothing, but nodded in agreement as Feliciano looked to him before stepping ahead and walking through the doors first; the tall capo was careful to remain a few steps behind the boss. The German was determined not to let his love's most dangerous rivals see through them the way the agent had. _Surely Gilbert would not have told, hopefully he wasn't seeing Jones' brother anyway_, Ludwig thought to himself as he took the seat beside Feliciano against the wall.

Deserving of his hot headed reputation, it was only too evident that Romano had been arguing with someone just prior to his younger brother's arrival. Feliciano sighed, looking to his brother he asked, "Veh~ Fratello, what have I missed?"

As the young Don pointed to the spaghetti bolognaise he wanted and was brought a glass of wine, his brother and the other young boss in the group, a man in his mid thirties, still over ten years Feliciano's senior, continued their argument.

"I told-a you, I have-a the situation under control, by-a tomorrow, the agent will-a have to do what-a we say if he wants to see his-a brother again!"

The other family head looked past the fuming Romano to speak to Feliciano. "I hope so. And what of the Byelorussian problem?"

The petite Mafioso tented and then laced his fingers together, his elbows on the tabletop. He leaned forward and focused on being every bit the boss his grandpa had trained him to be. "Coming along well. As you know, we have killed more of her men than she has ours. We have sent her ally away back to Lithuania, and we have a spy in her organization."

The tall blonde sat quietly and imposing beside his love as Feliciano continued. He knew being Don Vargas was taxing for Feli, but his Italian love played the part well, it was, afterall, what he had been training for his entire life. Feliciano countered each argument posed by the other men, and ended the meeting with a smooth reminder of who he was, the reason the Vargas' had been the bosses for so long. Dropping his grandfather's name was usually sufficient to silence Feliciano's critics. The elder Vargas' name was still synonymous with ruthless organization and territorial acquisition.

When finally the meeting was over, Ludwig stood beside Feliciano, sure to make eye contact with two of the four men who stood slower, noticing with satisfaction the limp that would haunt both men who he had had to remind of their places only days ago.

The heads of the families each gave a warm superficial farewell to eachother. For the time being, each had been mollified and wouldn't be after Feli's spot, at least for some time. Slowly each man left with his retinue until it was only Feliciano, who slipped his arms back into his coat and smiled up at his capo causing Ludwig to blush lightly, too aware of their place in public; Romano, his face still dark, who looked to his watch and whispered to his yakuza friend who had been silently observant throughout the meeting.

Kiku now looked up from his whispered conversation with Romano. "Ludwig-kun, Feliciano-kun," the smaller man nodded in the direction of his friends. "I will be seeing the sights in your city tonight, is there anything I should not miss?"

Smiling widely, Feliciano looped his arm around his Japanese friend's shoulder and the four men left the restaurant, each sharing their favorite places to go.

"Anywhere in little Italy, you just mention that I sent you!" The Mafioso offered happily, while his German love beside him added, "Und my brother vill make sure you have a good time und no one bothers you at the Roost."

Romano walked ahead toward his car. Kiku had ridden with his temperamental friend and though Romano's perilous driving somewhat terrified him, he wanted to talk more and find out what was bothering the Italian so much.

"Arigato" Kiku thanked his friends as the blonde looked to both directions before resting his hand at the small of the brunette's slender back and guiding his love toward the car. They said their goodbyes for the day and the yakuza member joined his clearly troubled Italian friend in Romano's car.

As the older Italian brother turned the ignition and hit the gas, speeding off through the streets, Kiku thought over what to say. Buffeted by the wind, which threatened to carry the quieter man's words away, he had to ask three times, each time louder than the last.

"Romano-kun, forgive me, but I see you are troubled by something. Do your troubles have anything to do with the agent's brother?" As his friend's face darkened and Romano stepped even heavier on the gas peddle, Kiku continued, hiding his terror at the impossible speed they were reaching as the Italian turned corner after corner and sped around the busy city traffic. "I ask because I understand it has been difficult to take him."

Suddenly Romano stepped on the brake and slid sideways to a stop beneath the bridge overlooking the river. Kiku held onto the side of the door for his life as his Italian friend put the car roughly into park and throwing his hands in the air, Romano turned to the slightly shorter man.

"If-a he was-a not always around Gilbert any time-a he leaves his-a brother's house, I would-a already have him!" Romano added under his breath, "That-a puttana Canadian!"

Kiku was used to Romano's foul Italian words, but didn't recognize this one. "Puttana?"

Hitting the steering wheel with his fist, Romano yelled out loudly, "Whore!"

After he had jumped involuntarily, Kiku settled in the seat and realizing he had spent too much time away from his loud mouthed friend and had gotten unused to his random expletives, the Japanese man turned to the Italian.

"Whore? Why does it matter if Gilbert is around him? I understand Ludwig-kun's brother is not involved with the family."

Suddenly the Italian looked away, his fists still clenched. The blush that suddenly crossed Romano's face did not go unnoticed.

"Romano-kun?" Kiku asked, his eyebrows raised.

Still looking away, the Italian unclenched one hand and fiddled with the gun he drew from his jacket. Romano spoke slowly at first and then finally saying what he hadn't admitted to anyone else, he rushed through the rest of his words.

"I, uh, He uh..I mean-a..We have-a so much-a more in-a common! What is-a he a-doing with-a that-a nobody? Just-a think what we could-a accomplish together!"

Romano hit the steering wheel again and scowled.

"You like him? I thought you were with the Spaniard, Antonio?" Kiku asked his friend, surprised but understanding more why Romano was taking the assignment personally.

The Italian waved his hand dismissively. "He was-a too clingy! I won't-a live in Spain and he makes-a me crazy! No, I want-a someone who can-a do their own-a thing, who is-a more like me, and is-a not-a so…all-a over me when I want-a my space!"

"Ah. I see." The Japanese man adjusted the cuffs of his silk jacket as he turned in his seat to face his friend. "What is it you plan to do?"

Romano looked to Kiku and grinned wickedly. "Feliciano is-a sure to be angry with me, but the results we will-a get will-a be enough to prove I know what I am-a doing." He continued ignoring the look on his Japanese friend's face. "Tonight. I have-a all things in place. Wherever the Canadian-a hussy goes, He will-a be followed. If-a Gil is-a with him and does not-a leave, I have a plan."

Romano's cryptic answer worried Kiku. He suddenly felt uncomfortable being placed between his two friends. He hadn't considered that the older brother would do something he knew Feliciano would disagree with. Kiku shifted in his seat, and as Romano spoke again, he felt an ominous sense of foreboding.

Starting the car again and peeling out from under the bridge, the older Vargas brother's face was dark as he chuckled. "Si, Feliciano will not-a be happy with me."

Romano turned to Kiku again as he barreled down the road, causing the more cautious man to once again hold the side of the door for dear life. "It is-a always easier to ask for-a forgiveness than-a permission."

The cool headed Japanese gangster held onto the side of the door of the Italian sportscar as his friend sped through the streets. Kiku's only thought was what he had gotten himself into and how he needed a moment of quiet to decide the best course of action for him to take concerning whatever Romano had planned that would anger his younger brother.

…

Later that evening, as the sun was just dipping below the horizon, the yakuza sat in the silence of his hotel room contemplating the events unfolding around him. The mob boss's older brother paced his study, walking past the phone as he waited to hear from his assassins. The Mafioso and his capo had just finished their days work while in the downtown apartment, the American agent sat on the sofa entwined in his Russian beau's arms as his twin finished putting the dishes in the sink after dinner.

Slipping into his tweed jacket, Mathew interrupted his brother who was whispering sweet nothings into the Bolshevik soldier's ear in an attempt to cheer Ivan, who had been in a melancholy mood all day since receiving the letter that morning.

"Remember I'm going out tonight, right Al? I'm not washing your dishes." The young professor was used to his brother forgetting what he had planned and taking him for granted at times.

"Don't forget your gun!" Alfred raised his head from Ivan's scarf clad neck.

"Da, you should be careful." His brother's Russian beau agreed.

Mathew sighed. "Alfred, you know I can't take a gun into the stadium. I'll be arrested." The Canadian continued, cutting off his brother's retort. "Besides, I'll have Gilbert with me, it's a public place, I'm sure I'll be fine."

The agent continued his argument, "Mattie, I just don't want anything to happen to you, and now I don't know who I can trust in the bureau." Alfred thought back to the news he had been given that morning. "Until we know who took those missing records, I just want to be on the safe side."

Mathew relaxed his stance and unfolded his arms. "I know. Thanks for looking out for me. But Al, I really can't take a gun into the game, and I will have Gil with me, so don't worry."

"ok…" Alfred begrudgingly agreed, though Mathew could tell the wheels of his brother's mind were turning trying to find another way to keep him from going.

However, the knock at the door cut off any progress Alfred had been having. The agent sat up straight on the sofa as his brother answered the door.

"Guten abend, Schöne." The pale man leaned casually against the door frame. The tiny yellow chick that always seemed to be around him peeking from his coat pocket.

"Guten abend Gilbert." Matt replied, feeling his face flush pink. He carefully turned away from his brother, who still regarded the German uneasily.

Alfred stood from the sofa, and addressed the albino. "'Ran into your brother today."

"Oh." Gilbert had eyes only for Matt as the agent continued.

"Yeah, and I still don't trust you. You had better not be working with him, if I find out you are-" but his brother cut him off there, as the usually mild professor turned from the door to face his twin.

"Alfred!" Mathew's expression was serious. "He's not his brother!"

"But-" Alfred continued.

"But nothing, I trust him, and we're going to this hockey game." Gilbert was grinning widely, his crimson eyes alight as Mathew turned from the livingroom and met him at the door. "Goodnight Al, I'll see you later."

As he watched the door close behind his twin, Alfred felt Ivan take his hand.

After pulling his Americanski back to his lap, the Russian wrapped both arms around the American agent. Ivan brushed back his love's golden hair to whisper into Alfred's ear as he left soft kisses down his neck trailing toward the American's collar bone.

"It does no good to worry, lyoubovnik. Your brother is his own man; he will do what he will do, da?"

Alfred gasped and gripped his lover's broad back as he felt Ivan bite down on his collar.

"Mmm.." The Russian went on, as he pressed his American love down onto the sofa cushions and began unbuttoning Alfred's shirt to continue his kisses across the lean muscular chest. "Let me take your worries away mo'ee krasivee Americanksi."

…..

While the Russian revolutionary and the BOI agent forgot their troubles together, lost in eachother's touch, in each sigh and moan, for the first time in over a week, Alfred's apartment was unwatched.

The Hungarian assassin working for the mafia had acted first, as her car pulled out from the shadows and slipped in unnoticed behind the two men on the motorcycle. Elizaveta let her mind run ahead through the directions Romano had given her and her husband at the wheel. She turned to her dark haired man and smiled lovingly.

Behind the couple, Natalya drove her sister's new ford model T. She wondered at the car in front of her, but paid it no matter. Whether they were after the agent's brother of the mobster's she didn't care. She'd catch her quarry, and she'd make the American pay for taking her beloved big brother from her.

Perplexed by the two cars in front of them, the cheka assassins none the less followed the yellow ford. One man turning to his comrade, "To yest Amerikanski, da? Odin svyazan s Braginski?" He asked though sure who he had seen sitting behind the white haired man on the motorcycle could be no other. His fellow shrugged, "Da. U vas yest glaza."

…

Unaware that they had been followed, the capo's brother and the agent's entered the stadium doors. Gilbert had never been to a hockey game before, but if his Canadian lit up like this at all of them, he'd be going to a lot more. Gilbert caught sight of the shifty looking man behind the concession stand and recognized the look of another booze seller.

"Anything good?" he asked. Winking and leaning on the counter.

Mathew glanced around, once again shocked at Gilbert's nonchalance with the law equaling his reckless public displays of affection.

"Whatchu lookin' for?" the other man leaned in.

"Imported?" The German's red eyes flitted toward his date. He really wanted to introduce Matt to good German beer, but due to the Roost being watched...

"Imported?" The man laughed, "I don't run it, that's more trouble than its worth! I make my own brew." He leaned closer on the counter. "'knock your socks off."

Gilbert wrinkled his nose. _Moonshiners. _"Ugh. Nevermind." He turned his back on the vender and guided his relieved Canadian man toward the stands.

Mathew was relieved, not only that his date had refused the moonshine, which was little more than poison, but that his German seemed to be taking account that they were in public for once, and kept his arm around his shoulders instead of his waist.

Though, were the world a more understanding place…the young professor's mind trailed off into the dream for a moment before his eyes alighted on the faceoff just starting below on the ice. His beloved maple leaves, once again against the Chicago blackhawks!

The two men took their seats right behind the glass. Gilbert missed most of the game however, as the German's found himself unable to turn away from his, previously, shy, reserved man. The grin spread across his face as he watched Mathew's reactions to the game.

His Canadian was truly full of surprises. Matt stood and cheered loudly when his team scored, swore, oh yes, and did he ever swear when they missed or a foul was counted against the 'leaves'. Gil jumped up to pound against the glass with his love as some of Matt's team were checked, the other guy running head long into them, causing a fight to break out on the ice. Gilbird flew from his pocket to chirp in circles above them.

Though he cheered and jeered along with his man, Gil really had no idea what was going on in the game, his mind was a blissful blank as he saw a side of Mathew he'd never guessed existed. When flecks of blood flew against the glass and the Canadian didn't shy away or flinch, but cheered, actually cheered on the player winning the fight Gilbert had to suppress the urge to grab him right then and there in front of everyone in attendance.

As for Mathew, it took until intermission for him to notice the way his date was staring at him, and the grin that seemed to be affixed permanently to his face.

The pale German took the Canadian's hand and pulled him behind a curtain on their way to pick up a few sodas. Kicking the assorted cleaning implements out of his way, Gilbert pressed Mathew against the wall, one hand finding its way around Matt's waist, the other into his blonde waves as the bartender took the professor's lips in a deep penetrative kiss.

Maybe it was the high from the game or the way the other man pressed up against him, every inch of their bodies in contact, but Matt didn't care about the fact that only a bit of fabric concealed them as his tongue intertwined with Gil's and he reached his arms into the German's jacket and around his back. Sighing into the kiss Mathew's mind flew back to the first they had shared that night he had wandered into striking albino's club from the chill.

That night was not so long ago and yet, perhaps through the tension and danger that surrounded them, Matthew felt more bonded to Gilbert than he had to any man before.

As he felt the pale German's hands caressing his back and his soft, warm lips pressed against his own Matthew looked back on the days before he met Gilbert as lonely and devoid of love and attention. Safer, yes, he couldn't deny he'd been safer but he'd been so empty.

He loved the brightness Gilbert brought in to his life, the brushes of skin against skin and stolen kisses like the ones they were presently exchanging.

For so long Matthew had lived without these touches. He'd hid himself away and protected himself from heartbreak and the hounds of a judgmental society.

He supposed it was possible he could've lived like Gilbert. He could've gone to the right bars, said the right words, and found a man for a night maybe two. But Matthew wasn't like that. He needed more.

He needed the way Gilbert listened to him ramble about history, the way he praised his cooking, the way he lit up watching him enjoy the game. He needed someone to notice and appreciate the little things that made him who he was and not just his physical beauty; he needed someone he could give the same attention and affection to.

In short, he needed love.

Looking up into hazy crimson eyes, Matthew realized he'd found it.

The realization only made his heart ache more. He loved Gilbert, he loved him and he couldn't deny it. It was dancing on his tongue in three languages just begging to be spoken, just trying to force its way out and Matthew was relieved that Gilbert's lips were sealing his own so no treacherous exclamation could escape at his sudden realization.

What would he do when the time came to return to Canada? How could he return to the life he had known before Gilbert? He couldn't just disappear and be forgotten. He couldn't let that happen.

He decided to put all the feeling of the words he was not yet ready to say into a single term of endearment as he drew away from their kiss and looped his arms around Gilbert's neck letting out a shuddering sigh and pressing himself close.

_"Mein Liebe." _ He nuzzled Gilbert's neck and let his warm breath tickle the German's pale skin.

Gilbert felt an electric shock course through his body and he tightened his grip on Matthew's waist and pressed their hips together. Was it just his imagination or was there something different in the way Matthew said those two simple words? Something different?

Whatever it was, it had hit Gilbert at his core, stirring up strange confused emotions and half formed thoughts. He tried to write it off as his usual possessiveness. Surely it was only his desire to stake an irrevocable claim that made him dread the thought of not being near Matthew. It was only his affection, simple affection, for Matthew that made him worry over him.

It was just that damn smile stirring up all his protective urges.

At the sound of the match resuming Gilbert quickly stole another kiss before they would have to leave the shelter of their supply closet. Despite all the thoughts he used to reassure himself, the residual tingling of that electric shock stayed with him and refused to dissipate.

There was something in the way Matthew had spoken those German words, there was something there, and it was calling out to be acknowledged by a part of Gilbert's soul that the albino desperately did not want to let loose.

Throughout the rest of the game, he noticed his Canadian's blue eyes finding his own more often as he found it impossible to tear his gaze from Mathew's exuberance and hitherto hidden competitiveness which Gilbert found particularly intoxicating. The unacknowledged feelings roiling beneath his consciousness continued to be unrecognized though the pale man felt as though there was some understanding he was missing, something just out of his reach, like a word you know, but whose meaning you have forgotten.

Gilbert still couldn't take his eyes from his surprising Canadian as they left the stadium. The two men had left slowly, straggling behind most of the crowd. Seeing that they were basically alone, the pale haired German snaked his hand into one of the blonde's back pockets.

"Gil!" Matt exclaimed, looking both directions immediately.

Crimson eyes twinkled lustily as Gilbert leaned in close to steal a kiss again, though this one was quick and chaste, as regardless of what others may think, he wasn't stupid. "Sh, mein liebeling. Sh."

But just as Gilbert was backing toward the concealing wall of the stadium nestled in the shadows of the evening, pulling his Mathew with him, the pale man stopped, hearing his name, Gil quickly slid his hand from Matt's pocket and stood protectively in front of his date.

"Ja?" he called to the approaching shape coming toward him from the parking lot.

"Signore Beilschmidt!" The other man appeared beneath a streetlamp as he approached closer.

"Scheiße!" _An Italian!_ He knew it was already too late to hide Mathew entirely, he only hoped this man was low enough in the organization to not be a threat. Surely he would not have announced himself so obviously if that were the case. But then what was someone in the family doing looking for him? His heart started to race with worry for his younger brother.

"Vhat is it?" He addressed the brunette who now stood before him. The man didn't even look to Mathew at all. Gilbert breathed a small sigh of relief at that; it appeared the man was only a messenger. That didn't calm his pounding heart however, and he impatiently waited for the other man to catch his breathe. It was clear he had been running from the parking lot.

"Vhat?" Gilbert's accent was usually less pronounced than his brother's, but came out thickly now as he spent less attention to speaking English and more on what the man had come to say.

The Italian gathered himself and spoke in a rush. "I was-a sent to get you. Your brother has been-a shot; I was-a told it did not-a look good."

_West._

In the second it took for the words to form in his mind, The German had the Italian by the coat, his red eyes wide with intensity. "Vhere is he?" the taller man shook the shorter one before he answered. "Gott verdammt! Ich werde töten, wer geschossen mein Bruder!" Realizing the Italian had no idea what he had said, Gilbert repeated in English continuing to shake the other man as he yelled. "I'll kill whoever shot my brother! Vhere vas he taken?"

"h-h-h-ho-ome" The smaller man stammered angrily as he was shaken. "p-u-u-t-a me-a d-ow-ow-wn-a!"

Finally, shakily, Gilbert let go of the messenger, his feet able to touch the ground again, the Italian turned, "Well-a I have to get-a back. Addio!" Gilbert stood paralyzed in place as he watched the brunette race back through the shadowed parking lot.

He didn't know what to do.

"Gil?" Mathew's voice came softly from behind him and anxious crimson eyes met concerned blue ones as he turned toward his Canadian. "Gil, you should go. Don't worry about me." Matt gestured toward the "L" stop across the street. "I'll catch the L back to Al's. Go to your brother."

The German grabbed hold of his amazing, sweet, wonderful man. "Though he vould kill you if his boss ordered it? You tell me to run to mien bruder, though it is dangerous for you in this city vhile the organization Ludvig is a part of has marked you? You tell me to go? That you vill be fine."

Gilbert shook his head, pale hair falling across his eyes. He stood torn, holding onto Mathew with one hand around the Canadian's waist, the other already holding the keys to his bike.

"Go." The professor repeated, thinking of his own brother's equally dangerous, though legal, profession. "Go Gilbert; I don't know what I would do if someone ran up to me and said that about Al."

Suddenly Matt found Gilbert's pale hands on his chin as his crimson eyed love brought their lips desperately together.

Breaking from the kiss, the German spoke low, still holding the Canadian's chin in one hand, "I vill call you. If you are not there, von Gott, I vill never forgive myself."

Mathew nodded and made himself smile, though Gilbert's words had chilled him and he worried about what would happen to the man he had only just realized he loved. Would his brother be alright? Would Gilbert really go after the man who shot him? What would happen then? All these thoughts Mathew shook from his head to respond as cheerily as he could. "I'll be there. Now go."

Still clearly conflicted, his German love bit at his lower lip, but nodded and with hardened blood red eyes he turned to run into the shadows toward his bike. The yellow fluff that was Gilbird followed him like a dart.

Mathew waited his hands in the pockets of his tweed jacket until he heard the sound of his love's engine rev and roar off into the night away from the stadium. He sighed heavily trying to reconcile his thoughts.

Just as he turned and made to cross the street toward to L station and his brother's home Matt heard heels click across the pavement right behind him, and before he could turn, the cool steel barrel of a pistol was at his back.

A softly feminine, yet forceful voice whispered in his ear. "Lets take a walk. Quietly."

Gulping down the lump in his throat, Mathew suddenly regretted not bringing the gun with him, he was pretty sure jail would be preferable to whatever awaited him. The Canadian's heart pounded in his chest at the recognition of the woman's voice. The Hungarian from the Roost.

She prodded him in the back and though his mind screamed at his legs that you never, ever, ever get into your kidnapper's car, they ignored him and he soon found himself walking toward the luxurious town car and the aristocratic seeming man who stood at the open trunk.

His heart beat so fast Mathew was sure it would pound its way past his ribs to escape when the rest of him could not. His throat constricted at the sight of the trunk. This was it, he was going to die.

The woman dropped the gun from her target's back as her husband drew his and held it calmly against Mathew's temple. She roughly tied his hands behind his back, then spinning him to face her, she first gagged his mouth and then lastly, all went dark as a blindfold was tied tightly across his eyes.

Feeling himself pushed roughly by the Hungarian woman into the trunk, Mathew thought of his brother, and of Gilbert as he felt the bumps and turns in the road taking him to his destination.

….

Moments before Gilbert had reluctantly left Mathew at the stadium's entrance, his younger brother was lifting his boss off the floor in a deep kiss. The two men had just closed the door on their city, choosing to find sanctuary at Ludwig's place instead of Feliciano's.

"Veh~" the Italian sighed against his lover's lips as they broke for air. "I like it better here already Ludwig. None of my men around to interrupt or overhear." The petite Mafioso trailed his hands down his capo's broad chest as the taller man lowered him to the floor.

The control the tall blonde had been holding onto all day was slipping, and slipping fast. _Mein Gott_, it was terrifying the way Feliciano undid him so thoroughly. Already the German's large hands were under his Italian love's dark blue dress shirt which he had apparently pulled from the confines of the slight boss's belt without realizing his movements. Ludwig ran his hands up the smaller man's slender back to pull Feliciano against him even as his eager boss fumbled to quickly undo the buttons of his very shirt his German love had already half removed. Feliciano shed, with his strong partner's help, the dark blue shirt and black silk tie from his body, and jumped into his capo's muscular arms. Now only clothed in black pinstriped trousers, Feliciano kicked off patent leather wingtip shoes as he wrapped his legs around his love's waist and began the quick work of freeing Ludwig from his crisp white buttoned shirt as well.

The buttons undone and the capo's tie thrown across the room, Ludwig held Feliciano against the hallway wall, entranced by the soft sighs his Italian angel breathed against his neck, the German returned Feliciano's soft movements with kisses and small quick bites along his petite lover's neck and chest. He held in the possessive growl that wanted to come up from his throat, the urge to push through his bedroom door and throw his love onto his bed.

Instead, the broad shouldered man calmed the beast within him and moved his hips against his beloved's. Taking his time, the blonde nuzzled into his Feli's neck before shifting his hold on the smaller man, he reached one hand into the Italian's mahogany hair to find the favored curl and pulling on it slightly, Ludwig tilted Feliciano's head back against the wall.

"Veh~ Il mio amore!" the Italian sighed and moaned and ground his hips against his love, reaching nimble fingers into the German's blonde locks, happily tousling his partner's combed back tresses as pale blue eyes met caramel before closing as Ludwig leaned in to take his petite boss's soft lips with his own.

….

While their boss was lost to his desire in his capo's arms, the assassins were just arriving at home. As Elizaveta and Roderich opened the trunk to pull the agent's brother out and walk their hostage toward the estate, they did not notice the Byelorussian in her sister's car parking far away in the shadows of the long private drive or the Russians as the cheka agents parked even further down from the model T.

Mathew tried to calm his panic as he blindly walked forward, being pushed on by his captors. Unlike his brother, the history professor had no training to deal with being taken hostage by the mafia. All he could do to remain somewhat calm was observe his surroundings as best he could.

As he was blindfolded, gagged and bound, his observances had to come from what he could hear. The Canadian listened intently to the sounds as the assassins guided him through their home. The couple whispered words in German that they must have thought he didn't understand. The Austrian's dialect was different, but clear. It was obviously not the Hungarian's native tongue but her words were still discernable as the couple talked.

Matt learned that the husband thought the mafioso's brother may have been rash in his method of getting Gilbert to leave. Apparently Gil's brother had never been wounded. The wife shrugged it off as something for the Italians to deal with. When her husband continued, saying that he knew the Germans well and Ludwig would hate to be used in such as way as much as he would hate learning that his brother had been in bed with the enemy.

Mathew didn't even have the chance to feel the anger that rushed to his face at the way they spoke about he and Gilbert before the Hungarian Elizaveta said something that chilled him throughout.

He had barely heard her words, it sounded as though she had turned away from him, toward her husband. But as the translations made sense in his mind, he half wished he hadn't known German at all.

"Oh my beloved, don't worry about what happens between the brothers. We did as we were asked, and…" Her words became soft and seemed to turn away, "besides, I can only hope that Jones tries to rescue his brother…I have wanted to repay him for taking you from me for too long. If he attempts to rescue his brother, I will kill him. And oh, I will enjoy it. For you my love." The one assassin planted a chaste, loving kiss against the other's cheek and pushed her captive into the kitchen.

He knew it was the kitchen by the smell of something sweet, the sound of the opening oven, the feel of the heat, as what the husband had left in the oven when he had come to his wife's aid at the stadium was taken out and set on a counter.

There was the sound of chairs moving as he was made to stand still. Drawers opening, the clink of dishes and kitchen implements being moved around. Mathew would have panicked at the thought of the damage the assassins could do with the various sharp tools found in an everyday kitchen, but his mind was overwhelmed by thoughts of his albino love who would surely be getting home by now…

The last words Gilbert had spoken to him stood out in his mind. _If you are not there, von Gott, I vill never forgive myself. _

Matt's heart ached physically in his chest as he thought that those could be the last words they spoke to eachother; that he had not told Gilbert he was in love when he had had the chance.

The young professor's thoughts were jerked immediately back to the present as he felt the Austrian push him into a heavy wooden dining chair; the Hungarian secured his arms to the arms of the chair. It was chilling how well she handled the rope, securing not only his arms, but wrapping the rough material around his chest. She tied him in so securely Matt felt the spindles of the no doubt elegant chair as they poked into his spine uncomfortably.

He felt vulnerable and helpless, unable to move or even to see what his captors were doing. Silently Mathew sat there, his heart pounding in his chest, a lump in his throat as his thoughts returned to his German love and his brother. Mathew half wanted his brother to know where he was, to come and rescue him with dozens of federal agents, but at the same time, after hearing the coldness in the Hungarian's voice, he almost didn't want his brother to come at all. Knowing Alfred would likely think he could handle things on his own, as he had when he had gone to a war torn Russia armed with only his pistol. Damn, he knew his brother, he knew Alfred would think he could handle anything.

As to Gilbert, Mathew's heart threw itself against his ribs at the thoughts tumbling haphazardly through his mind. Would Gil be able to find out who had him? What if he did? Could he go against his brother? What would the consequences be if he did? His heart told him his crimson eyed man would go by no one else's rules, but he didn't dare to hope that Gilbert might be able to find him here, and if he did find him, Mathew had no idea what the security was like around the home in which he was being held.

Once again, his thoughts came crashing back to reality as the heels of the Hungarian woman entered the kitchen. Click click clicking against the tile floor, he heard her come close. She was right in front of him.

Mathew tried to tilt his jaw up, and be brave though he couldn't be sure if he was even truly facing her.

The sound of someone playing at a piano drifted in to the kitchen from another room as the woman spoke up.

"Mathew Williams." She started as he heard her pace in front of him. "This is nothing personal, I want you to know. I feel sorry for you really, you should have chosen to visit your brother another time. However, you came to Chicago now, you wandered into the Roost, and," Matt could hear the expression on her face as clearly as if he had not been blindfolded and he blushed to know his private moments had been spied on. "You continued to see, of all people, Gilbert Beilschmidt."

The assassin chuckled. She stopped her pacing and traced his outstretched hand with a finger nail.

"I don't want you to worry unduly. Your brother will have one, two, three," She touched lightly on each of his fingers as she counted, "four, five, six, seven," The professors heart raced at the understanding. "eight, nine, ten days before it is too late." She ended her sentence with a pat to his face making the threats to his appendages clear.

Without another word, she turned and began to leave the kitchen, the soft clicks of her heels receding, when suddenly the sound of glass shattering crashed into the quiet of the spacious home. The melody from the parlor cut out instantly.

Suddenly the Hungarian's heels were backing into the kitchen. Whoever had broke the glass clearly advancing on her. Mathew strained to figure out what was going on. Could he be so lucky to be found so soon?

The kitchen quickly seemed to be falling apart around him, sounds of metal pots and pans falling to the floor, being used as shields and flung at the attacker. Perplexingly, it seemed it was two women fighting. Matt had no idea now, who could have been the one to come through the window, or door, or whatever it was.

Suddenly one of the women fell into the side of his chair; the heavy wooden chair wobbled and fell sideways. The Canadian found himself unable to breathe for a few horrifying minutes before he took a painful rattling breathe. Ugh, he was now laying on his side, still secured to the chair. Mathew felt the arm of the chair jabbing into his side, and knew a furious bruise would be blossoming along his left side, and if he was lucky, he would only have bruised and not fractured ribs.

But the helpless man on the floor had no time for worries over his injuries. The two women were still fighting around him, as he felt the kick of a thick square heel followed by the spike of a stiletto as the two women tripped over him on their way to pulling out drawers, searching for knives and various other deadly weapons he tried in vain to free himself from any of his bindings.

Only by moving his head against the floor where he lay was Mathew able to shift his glasses beneath the blindfold and thereby peek out blurrily over the wire rims which had slid down his nose.

A black clad woman – shape was battling the Hungarian woman. She fought with knives, but was countered at each swipe by the frying pan Elizaveta swung with skill.

Apparently, her Austrian husband had been hit temporarily unconscious as the intruder had first come in, but now having woken, the dark haired man entered the kitchen, coming to his wife's aid.

The woman all in black had been backed against the counter by the Hungarian who had already landed a few blows with the skillet. However, as the other woman reached around her for a new weapon, having already thrown both knives she entered with, her fingers found the open drawer and she drew out a large, serrated, streak knife.

With ferocious intensity usually reserved for wild animals, she leaped high into the air, over Mathew still struggling to free himself on the floor. She landed on Elizaveta, long platinum hair falling across her face from her hooded coat to contrast with the copper pan in her rival's hands. Elizaveta kicked upward with her feet from where she had fallen as the other woman tackled her.

The women rolled across the floor, the Austrian man following, attempting to pry the intruder from his wife.

When finally he succeeded, Roderich pulled the deceptively strong petite woman up and quickly looped the piano wire he had brought to the kitchen around her slender neck.

The hood and scarf covering the woman's face stayed in place, as she struggled and kicked, gasping out curses in an unrecognized language.

Sure her attacker was on her way out as Roderich held the wire tight against the woman's neck, Elizaveta stood. She looked down at her wounds and staggered back against the counter behind her.

His attention suddenly drawn to the many red stains spreading across his wife's sleeves, and up the side of her olive green dress, Roderich's grip slackened just enough to allow his enemy to reach up with her knife.

"Elizaveta!" He exclaimed, missing the actions of the woman in his arms as she dragged the knife against the soft skin of her own neck to slice through the wire which snapped freeing her. The black-clad woman took advantage of the austrian's surprise to elbow him sharply and then turning quickly in a spin, the intruder buried the knife deep into the mafia's assassin's shoulder blade before pulling it out, a delighted giggle escaping her lips as the man hissed at the serrated edges dragging back against his wounded muscle.

Matt lay petrified on the floor, unsure what was going on, who the woman was, and what she would do with him.

He did not have to wait long to find out.

The black clad woman stepped easily through the mess of the kitchen floor, the tile covered in dishware and flecks of blood.

Roderich Edelstein slid down the wall, his hand against the gushing wound just beneath his right shoulder, his expensive clothes quickly staining crimson.

Elizaveta ran to her Austrian man, and then shakily picking up the discarded skillet she advanced on the other woman again, paying no heed to her many slashes across her body.

The Byelorussian laughed through her own pain, regardless of the blood trickling down her neck, the many bruises forming all over her body from the frying pan's blows.

Stooping to the ground, knowing she had time as the Hungarian swayed from her own blood loss, Natalya cut the roped to free Matt from the chair. She let the blindfold fall from his face but left the gag in place and his hands tied behind his back.

Before Matt could wonder if she would be continuing to free him or not, her actions answered for him. Dragging the taller man to his knees and then feet, Matt looked to the woman in black quizzically as she took his glasses from his face and pushed him from the estate. They passed the front door meeting no security at all. Whether they had been there before the other woman arrived and had since been dispatched or whether they had ever been there at all mattered nothing to Mathew anymore.

The woman removed her scarf and freed her platinum hair fully now. She pushed him callously forward toward the car waiting in the shadows.

_What the hell had he gotten into? _

Again she answered, this time in words that left no question as to her motives.

Shoving him face forward in the back seat of the car, Natalya spoke coolly as Mathew shifted to his back to face her.

"Now I will take from Jones what he took from me. If I am lucky, your brother will come to try to save you." She giggled and it sent chills down his body. "And then I can free my dear Vanya to come back to me."

She suddenly leaned over him in the back seat, her pale hair tickling his face and causing the Canadian professor to feel repulsed as he tried in vain to scoot along the seat away from her.

Natalya spoke again, her R's deep and rolling. "I will not put you in the trunk, no, I am not so cruel as that. Instead I want you to see the stars. After tonight, I am afraid you will never see them again."

Giggling again, the Byelorussian started her ignition and pulled out of the private estate whistling to herself unnervingly.

…..

The horror that had befallen the young Canadian, all because of who his brother was, what he did or who he loved, had all occurred in the space of a half hour. The time it took his love to reach the apartment he shared with his brother.

Gilbert lept from his motorcycle and raced toward the door. Locked? "Vas zum Teufel?" The pale man jabbed his key in and turned the lock. He bounded through the door in one heartbeat.

His red eyes wild, the older brother raced into the livingroom. "Ludwig?"

The pale man stopped short and turned toward the hall where frantic shuffles had caught his attention.

His brother was standing in the hall blushing bright red, his blonde hair uncommonly disheveled. Ludwig was completely alive and un-wounded. Gilbert could tell there were no bullet wounds because his bruder was shirtless, and quickly buttoning his pants. Under normal circumstances, the older brother would have laughed out loud and tried his best to embarrass his uptight brother, especially as he could just make out the shape of a certain Italian pulling on his own pants hurriedly behind Ludwig's broad frame.

But these were not normal circumstances.

"Bruder...You're...alright...?" Gilbert couldn't make sense of what he was seeing for a moment.

Ludwig, still blushing furiously, pushed sweat drenched locks back from his face in an attempt to restore his polished look. "...Ja?" Blue eyes blinked and he stepped closer into the livingroom, picking his shirt from the floor and slipping his arms back into it, he took a closer look at his brother's expression. "East, vhat is it?"

The paler man's face colored as well, but not in embarrassment as his brother, but dawning understanding paired with instant loathing. His heart beat crescendoed, his mind racing along at the same pace, as it all clicked into place in Gilbert's mind. "The bastards! They told me...they told me you'd been shot!"

"Vhat?" Ludwig stepped closer to his brother. "Who told you this?"

Some verdammt Italian! I don't know his name!" _Oh god, Mathew!_ He had to leave right away. The stadium was so much further away, what chance did he have of getting there in time? Should he go immediately to the agent's place to check to see if he could possibly have gotten home? He knew as sure as his brother stood uninjured before him, that his sweet Canadian had not made it home, Gilbert's heart dropped to his feet and he began to back toward the door. "Of all the low down..." His words trailed off into an angry growl.

"Vait...vhat were you doing? Vhere were you?" Ludwig looked back to Feliciano who was rebuttoning his dark blue shirt and then back to his brother.

The petite Mafioso sighed angrily, nearly a whisper. "Veh~ Romano.."

Gilbert didn't try to lie, but didn't divulge the whole truth. "I was at a hockey game." _Why was he still standing there? Why wasn't he on his way to Mathew, wherever he was?_ "I have to go." The pale man muttered as he moved back closer to the door.

Ludwig acted fast, putting all the pieces together. This had been precisely why he had warned his brother to stay away from the agent's.

"Vait- Bruder!" The taller brother reached out and grabbed Gilbert by the shoulder. "I didn't know anything about this! I can not believe that arschloch vould stoop so low!"

Ludwig glanced to his love, who had joined him, leaning against the edge of the sofa, and then back to his brother. "But you vere at a hockey game? You've never been interested in hockey…vere you vith the agent's bruder vhen you knew he vas marked?"

The look on his brother's face as enough to give him away. "This is exactly vhat I vas afriad of! Vhy didnt you listen to me?"

Gilbert felt the rage and helplessness boil up inside him as his emotions fluctuated from worried for his brother to worried for his innocent Canadian, and the guilt he felt knowing he had left him alone and fallen for Romano's trick. Red eyes glared between his brother and the mob boss. He glared between, not meeting either man's eyes. He didn't fear Feliciano. Not really. If anything the two had always been close for what the small Italian had done for his brother…all the same, Gilbert would never let anyone hurt Matt. He had to find him.

"You didn't know?" He finally met his brother's blue eyes. Seeing the truth within, he softened. "Nein, you vouldn't do that to me, bruder."

Stiffening again, he knew he had to come clean and whats more he had to show just how serious he was."Vhy didn't I listen to you? I leave you to your business. You leave me to mine. Matt has nothing to do with this. Gott, He's just a history professor."

The tall blonde raked his hand through his hair in frustration. Why couldn't his brother understand? "He is the brother of a federal agent! An agent ve need to get out of town!" He is no more _just_ a professor than you _just_ a bartender bruder! Do you think I don't vorry that an enemy of mine vill try to get to me through you? Its vhat this business is like."

Feliciano spoke up from beside Ludwig. His face had turned dark as soon as he understood that his brother had used Ludwig to get Gilbert away from the agent's brother. Of course, until this second he didn't know that Gilbert had even been seeing Mathew Williams. Feliciano felt terrible, he genuinely would not want to hurt Gilbert, who had always been a friend. "I am sure Romano wasn't thinking to hurt you. Veh~ its not personal, and if Jones does as we ask his brother will be fine."

Gilbert knew if Romano was involved it was pretty fucking personal. He'd only been turning down Feliciano's brother's advances for the entire last year. Romano just wasn't his type. He'd tolerated the organization his brother was a part of, but had never wanted to be a part of it himself. He glanced sidelong at Feliciano, wondering how much he should say. Deciding on saying nothing, the pale man turned his crimson eyes back to his brother.

"Ja, He's not just a history professor bruder." Gil crossed his arms in front of his chest and stood tall. "He's Mathew, and he's mine."

Taken aback by his brother's possessiveness, Ludwig wondered how deep things went between his brother and agent's. Gilbert wasn't one to be so committed. "Yours?" the taller blonde looked sadly to his brother. "Vell, I am sorry. I really do hope that Agent Jones listens to reason und leaves town."

Gil stepped closer to his brother, the brother he had been praying would be alright the entire drive home. "Sorry is not enough Ludwig. Don't lay a finger on him."

The white haired man rocked back on his feet at his brother's hesitant words. "_I_ von't. I do not do Romano's vork…that is for Elizaveta und Roderich." Ludwig shared a silent glance with his love.

The paler brother's lip twitched; he spoke with clear contempt. "Edelstein." His red eyes locked onto his brothers blue again as Gilbert continued.

"I may be just a bartender but you know better than anyone how well I can hold my own bruder. Ich liebe dich, but Matthew is innocent in this and I will protect him."

"Nein." Ludwig addressed his brother seriously, knowing Romano had followed through with the plan he had kept from them, and the Canadian would surely be at Rod and Liz's by now. "It is too late for that. If you vant to do anything, you should convey the seriousness of the situation to Jones."

Ludwig's voice dropped low and with a somewhat sorrowful tone he added, "You can not go up against Romano. Not that I doubt you bruder, but," The taller man's blue eyes flicked toward Feliciano almost imperceptibly. "I can not let you."

Gilbert had had enough of this. Why didn't they understand how serious he was? "I have always respected you." His crimson eyes purposefully met his brother's sky blue and then the petite mafioso's caramel before he continued, "Both of you. I've kept your secrets and never interfered in your affairs. I've never asked you for anything. I've given you safe haven in my club with nothing in return. I've never asked for favors or protection. If you do this, if you take what's mine, you're crossing me."

The pale man ended his sentence with an ice cold expression, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Bruder! Vhy do you think I told you to stay avay from him!" Ludwig asked exasperated. Vhat do you expect me to do?" Why hadn't Gilbert listened to him before he'd gotten too close with the man, Ludwig combed his hand through his hair again, looking down into his brother's wild expression.

Gilbert replied readily. "Leave Matthew out of it! Get to Jones some other way! You can't just tell me to stay away from him..."

The older brother felt his voice go hoarse as his heart beat frantically and clenched painfully in his chest. "You don't understand Ludwig you don't understand..."

"Ich liebe ihn"

His brother's words hung in the air between them for a moment before Ludwig acted, grabbing his slightly shorter brother by the collar.

"Vas hast du gesagt?" The capo repeated, "Vas?"

Gilbert might have noticed the way his brother's eyes had gone steely blue and cold had he not been hearing the words he had just spoken involuntarily as though they had come from someone else. _Ich liebe ihn, I love him_. Mein Gott... love him? What had possessed him to speak those words…love? Could it be? Gilbert put the thought out of his mind, even as he suddenly felt more whole, as though that feeling of something just out of his reach was closer…

He pulled himself from his thoughts. He had to see Mathew again or his love wouldn't matter at all.

The cold look lasted only a second in his brother's eyes before they returned to the warm sky blue Gilbert was used to. Ludwig released his brother's collar " You love him... und you vould think I do not understand..." The blonde's broad chest heaved with a deep sigh. "but it is too late, bruder."

Feliciano spoke again, as he looped his arm around Ludwig's and leaned into his strong love. "Veh~ I'm sorry Gilbert, I didn't know...but with all the scrutiny from the feds, we can't use our," he looked up to his lover and best capo meaningfully, "usual methods. His brother is the only way. If he complies, I can promise we will let Mathew go."

Though Feliciano's caramel eyes were wide with sincerity, the unspoken possibility was just as sincere. If the agent did not comply, his brother would be killed. It was the way things worked in the business his brother's Italian man had been raised to think of as a normal life.

Gilbert shook his head. "That's not good enough. What would you do in my place? Do you think I can sit by and let that fucker Edelstein rough him up? Do you think I could sit by while there was any chance he could die?" Gott, the image of his Matt being held in that damn aristocrat's house against his will sent shocks through his heart and propelled his need to leave as fast as possible.

Deep crimson eyes were wild as he glanced toward his room, knowing his gun lay waiting for him in the dresser drawer. He was already planning how to get into Edelstein's place as he continued. "This isn't something I can stay out of. You can't hurt him."

The room was silent for the space of a few heartbeats

Ludwig and Feliciano shared a look. Feli clearly angry at his brother and sorry that Ludwig's had been dragged into the business when he knew his German love preferred to keep Gilbert out of it. Ludwig, sorry that he hadn't shared his worries that his brother had continued to see Jones' brother. Sorry to Gilbert that things had to be the way they were.

The capo was about to tell his brother this when the phone rang. Ludwig looked to the phone and back to his brother.

"Vait, East. Do not go anyvhere just yet. hold on." Ludwig answered the phone, his eyes moving from his older brother to his love as he spoke into the receiver. "Ja?"

But in one look, Gilbert knew something was wrong, Ludwig's outburst following his telling expression confirming that something had not gone as planned. "VHAT?"

Silence followed, as both Feliciano and Gilbert paid rapt attention to each tiny change in expression on Ludwig's face as he listened to the other end of the phone.

Still with the receiver to his ear, Ludwig looked to Feliciano first, not wanting to meet his brother's eyes after Gilbert had admitting to loving the man. "Who vas it?" he spoke into the phone. "nein..." "ja, I vill..." The one sided conversation was not much help as Gilbert stood anxiously.

Finally, Ludwig hung up the phone with a mumbled "Auf Wiedersehen" The tall blonde once again hesitated to face his brother, he spoke first to his love. "That vas Roderich. They have lost him. It vas some unknown voman dressed all in black." He then faced to his brother, aware of the tragic look he turned toward his brother with the uncertainty now facing the Canadian man. "I'm sorry, I don't know vhat to say Gilbert."

Turning back to his petite love, he continued, "Whoever she vas, she really hurt Elizaveta. und nearly killed Rod... but they never saw her face."

Before Ludwig could turn back to his brother, Gilbert let out a guttural cry from deep in his throat; he disappeared into the hall and his room, emerging a moment later, running past his brother and the mafioso, loading his gun as he ran.

Ludwig strode to Feliciano and placed his hands on his love's slender hips. The day had started so well to end so badly. "Vell, there is no reason to stop him now, ja?"

"Veh..." Feliciano began, "But we still need to get rid of that agent." the Italian sighed again. "I'm sorry about your brother getting involved amore. I am beginning to think I need to talk to mine..." The petite mafioso leaned into his capo's chest, dreading the conversation with his older brother and considering the options for how to best get rid of the agent now...They'd probably have to kill him and that would be messy

_End of Ch 11! _

_I hope you all have enjoyed it! I'll try to not keep you in suspense too long before Chapter 12 comes out. Thank you all for the awesome reviews! I love you all, they really really keep me going!_

_The backstories are up in my stories for all of you who have not yet read them. Feliciano and Ludwig's is titled The Mafia and the __Militär. Alfred and Ivan's is titled Going Down adn Looking Up. (Reviews as always loved and appreciated!)_

_Also, see my sister's video she created, inspired by a line Ivan said to Alfred in Chapter 10. – Just copy, paste and fix the spaces! – You should all subscribe to her youtube account, she is currently working on a TON of awesome hetalia vids!_

_http:/ www. youtube. com/watch ?v=iqN8pt4galg&feature=ll_lolz&playnext= 1&list=LLN15LynqxMno_

_**New Russian and German phrases used:**_

_Lyoubimee = beloved_

_To yest Amerikanski, da? Odin svyazan s Braginski? = thats the american, right? The one involved with Braginski?_

_Da. U vas yest glaza = yes, you have eyes._

_von Gott = by god_

_Vas zum Teufel = what the hell?_

_Arschloch = asshole_

_Ich liebe ihn = I love him_

_Vas hast du gesagt = What have you said? _

_Again, bitte, pazhaloosta, per favore, and __s'il vous plaît review please, my dear sweet readers ! _


	12. Chapter 12

_Hello dear sweet wonderful readers! This chapter has been a lot of fun to write and I hope you enjoy it! Quite a lot is going on in this as the plot thickens so to speak. Fluff, Violence, and Suspense._

_(of course I do not own hetalia. Etc, etc.)_

_Well, without further ado…. _

December 1920.

Between the late hours of the 20th,

and the very early hours of the 21st

Many things were happening at once across the windy city. The capo's brother was running from the Austrian's wife after busting in to interrogate him. It had all been for naught; they didn't know any more than they had told Ludwig; nothing with which he could identify the mystery woman. The only thing that brought Gil some satisfaction as he hopped back on his bike to leave the pan-wielding assassin was the blow he'd landed to that damn aristocrat's smug face.

While the crimson eyed man raced toward the only place he knew he needed to go, his brother the capo stood silently beside his boss in the elevator on the way up to Feliciano's penthouse. Romano would already be there. Ludwig looked down at his Italian love beside him. Feliciano stood with arms crossed, his expression one of many emotions. The tall blonde reached his arm around the petite brunette's waist and turned the smaller man to face him.

"Feli, I am sorry I did not share my vorries that Gilbert vas seeing the agent's brother. I should have told you." Ludwig looked down into Feliciano's caramel eyes, the observant man didn't miss the distance and the way they clouded with thought.

Dismissing the thoughts swirling in his mind, the slight Italian sighed and encircled his own arms around his taller man's back closing the distance between them. "Veh~ I understand why you didn't." Feliciano sighed into Ludwig's chest.

The Mafioso sighed again lighter this time and closed his eyes. Why did things have to be so complicated? All he really wanted out of life was good pasta, warm relaxing days and to spend all his time with the taller, broad shouldered blonde currently enveloping him in his strong arms.

After a few seconds of peaceful stillness, during which Feliciano thought of nothing but the way his love's arms encircled him so completely and the comfort of Ludwig's steady heartbeat, he felt one of those arms leave his back. Feliciano heard his German lover flick the toggle to bring the elevator to a stop.

He stayed where he was, eyes closed against Ludwig's chest and soon felt his man's arm return to holding him securely again. From where the petite mafioso rested against his capo's chest, Feliciano felt the soft touch of lips atop his head and heard his love speak, Ludwig's voice both quiet and serious.

"That does not excuse me. Mein liebeling, I should have told you the moment I suspected Gilbert had continued to see the agent's brother." The German's voice dropped lower and grew more dangerous. "Instead I lied to myself. I vas blind to all the signs..."

Feliciano's heart ached each time the man he loved and saw as perfect and indestructible was so hard on himself. The Italian lifted his chin against the taller man's chest and opened his eyes fully to look up into those of pained blue.

"Veh~ Don't blame yourself mio amore!" Feliciano slipped in the German words he knew his love liked to hear, "Bitte, mein liebe? He is your brother, of course you hoped for the best."

The petite Italian then moved his hands from around Ludwig's back and reached to knit his fingers in the small blonde hairs at his love's neck.

Ludwig looked down into Feliciano's eyes. They were so beautiful when fully opened. The German felt the blush that stole across his face as he thought, _nein, they are beautiful all the time. _

"Veh~" The boss moaned softly into the kiss as he suddenly felt his capo's lips on his. Ludwig had lifted the smaller man off the elevator's tiled floor.

The blonde still couldn't believe the lightness he now felt in his soul; ever since he had admitted to himself that he loved his Feliciano he had felt more whole, much more complete.

Soft lips opened easily as his Italian sighed to allow their tongues to dance intimately around eachother. When finally the two men broke for air, half opened blue eyes gazing into caramel brown, Ludwig slowly lowered Feliciano to the floor.

The boss smiled up at his capo and then grew more serious. "I am so sorry about Gilbert…I do not want to lose his friendship, do you think he would…what if…Veh~" The Italian trailed off, the rest of his thought unspoken but understood.

Ludwig knew Feliciano was wondering if he thought Gilbert would come after Romano for organizing the abduction, would they all be able to go back to the way things were before, and what would Ludwig do if his brother publically went against Feliciano's organization.

The blonde brushed a hand through the brunette's hair to come to a rest, cupping Feliciano's cheek. Though Ludwig didn't really have the answers to his love's unspoken questions yet, he knew whatever happened he would never leave Feliciano's side.

The German's face blushed scarlet again_, gott verdammt, why was it still so hard to express himself?_

Ludwig cleared his throat of the lump that had settled there. "Feli, I vould not be here if I had never met you." He brought his lips to the other man's in a light echo of the passion of their previous kiss. "You have been…Feli, you are everything," His heart clinched as he looked into those eyes again. "Ich liebe dich, Feliciano. I vill never leave you."

As his petite man moved back in fully against his chest, Ludwig reached to flick the toggle again to allow the elevator to continue its ascent. Looking down at his lover's head against his chest, he continued, "Let me vorry about mein bruder. You vill have your hands full dealing vith your own."

As the capo held the Don close, and the bartender drove back toward the city center at a record speed, The American agent paced his apartment, stopping once again at the window. Matt should be back by now, the game had ended over an hour ago.

Alfred's Russian beau stood to join him silently at the window. Ivan wanted to say something to distract his man from his worries, but when he thought about the cheka he knew were out there somewhere and the mafia assassins Alfred had told him about, the Bolshevik soldier knew there was a chance his love was right to worry.

….

Across town at the Gold Star, the madame sat beside the fireplace in her office with the British dealer. Her sister had disappeared some time ago, once again taking Katyusha's car without asking, her brother was surely only in town for a short time, and no doubt occupied with the agent. There was no reason she should be bound by their rules…was she not the oldest? Had she not been doing well for herself for years before her siblings showed up to boss her around? Da, she had and she was.

Katyusha loved her brother very much, and didn't want to make Ivan mad but she wasn't going to let him rule her life. She was a grown woman and she could make her own decisions.

Right now she had decided to let the interestingly charming ex-doctor kiss her.

Her blue eyes closed, the hard working business woman leaned across the hearth and into the shorter man's kiss. Katyusha rolled the beaded necklace Arthur had given her as an early Christmas present in her fingers. The little coral beads soaking up the heat from the fire as she played with them.

She hadn't told him yet about her brother's threat. It had been so long since she had felt this way for someone, and never had they been so well matched. Usually she couldn't bring up how she made her living if out on a date and Katyusha was willing to bet the drug dealer with his soft lips and smooth words never told his dates the truth either.

As they separated and she opened her eyes to those of brilliant emerald, she knew she had to tell him. Looking down to the warm coral beads in her hands, she spoke low and reluctantly.

"Arthur…You know, the man you described last night?" She looked up and reached a hand to brush a strand of blonde hair from the bruise still around the doctor's left eye.

"Yeah, lovey?" He asked, taking her hand as she dropped it back into her lap.

"I..I..have to tell you…" Oh, why was it so hard? Katyusha answered herself, it was hard because she never gave herself time from running her business to look for romance, she didn't let herself get too close because she had no desire to get her heartbroken.

As the statuesque woman across from him was clearly having a hard time getting the words out, Arthur Kirkland knew what she was going to say and wanted to help her out by telling her he already knew who Ivan Braginski was, but then he'd have to explain how…and why he didn't say he knew right away…and maybe who he'd already told.

No…he couldn't say anything. Conflicted, Arthur worked not to show his emotions and leaned across to her again, lifting expressive brows, he prodded her to go on, "Tell me what dollface?"

She turned back to him, feeling the tears that threatened to spill gathering in the corners of her eyes. "He's my brother."

"Oh?" He did his best to look surprised. "You never said you have a brother."

"Da...mo'ee braht." She sighed and then looking down to her lap and the hand that held hers, Katyusha let the words rush from her all at once. "He doesn't want me to be around you, he said if he finds out that I've been seeing you, he'll hurt you. My sister too, she will tell him if she knows you've been back here. You've seen how she can be!"

Teary blue eyes looked back up to find the man she'd expected to get up and leave, still leaning in close to her. "I'm not that easy to scare, Doll." Katyusha smiled in relief, her heart lighter, and let a giggle escape as he waggled his prominent brows at her as he finished the sentence, "I'm not going anywhere unless _you_ want me to."

The British dealer leaned back in for another kiss and was surprised to feel the madame pull him in closer. The taller woman leaned into him again, her arms draped around his neck. His heart quickened at the feeling of her ample bosom pressed against his chest.

Arthur encircled Katyusha's waist with his arms and pulled her even closer as he deepened their kiss. The deal he had with Vargas was no longer the only reason for his visits. He rationalized his dealings with the mafia against Katyusha's family by telling himself he wouldn't let her get hurt, and he'd definitely never tell her.

Lost in themselves, neither heard the door outside open or the footsteps coming closer down the hall. It was only when her younger sister called out her name that Katyusha broke from their embrace, jumping up from the hearth as Natalya called down the hall.

"Moya sestra!" The taller woman reached down to pull her man up. "Hide! You have to hide!" Knowing Arthur couldn't leave by the door through which he'd come, she rapidly pushed him to the side door, opened it and shoved him inside.

He turned his head immediately against the door to listen as he heard Natalya enter the office. The voices were muffled and in a language he didn't speak, but he listened hard anyway, hopeful to catch some idea of what was said. The majority of the conversation eluded his understanding, but he didn't mistake the panic in Katyusha's voice or the cool detachment in her sister's. Suddenly a snippet of conversation made sense and the Englishman's blood cooled as he pressed his ear to the door.

Between the rapidly spoken Russian he'd understood the name "Jones?" and then the reply, as he had gathered just enough to know the words spoken by the younger sister. "Nyet. Yego braht." He didn't know what 'yego' meant, but he recognized 'no' and 'brother'. Cursing himself for not realizing it earlier, he dropped to his knees and peered though the key hole.

The scene in his statuesque bird's office sent his stomach into knots. He hadn't even known Alfred's brother was down. Though he hadn't seen him in years, not since he and the agent had had their falling out, he recognized Alfred's twin, distinguishable by minute differences, such as the slightly different blue of his eyes and the way his hair curled. Seeing him now, bound and gagged and at the mercy of the crazed younger sister made Arthur's stomach clench again in guilt. He knew Mathew had been teaching history in Canada…this wasn't his world.

_Wait, why am I feeling guilty? I didn't get him in the mess. Alfred's the one who should feel guilty. _The Brit watched from the key hole as Natalya pressed a knife to the Canadian's back and marched him from the room, followed anxiously by her sister, who spared one glance toward the door. Clearly she had expected him to be watching as she motioned silently for him to stay put.

Arthur rose from his knees as the office door closed behind the two women and their hostage. He was still in the dark, and felt along the wall until he found a switch. The dealer turned from the door, blinking in the light. As his eyes adjusted, Arthur realized he was in a bedroom.

…..

While the green-eyed man reminded himself it wouldn't be very gentlemanly to hop onto Katyusha's bed to wait for her return, however tempting the idea, the two sisters were once again arguing below in the basement where the younger had stepped over old and broken plumping to tie her captive to a chair.

The professor mentally ran through the events of the night as he tried to think of his options. At the moment he didn't have many. The psychopathic younger sister held a knife against his throat as the older sister apologetically secured him to a rickety metal folding chair.

"Do not apologize to him sestra! I will not have you feeling sorry for him when he dies."

Mathew felt his blood run cold as the woman pulled her knife away from his jugular and stepped back to appraise her sister's work. Far worse than the nonchalant way Natalya spoke was the way the older sister wouldn't meet his eyes. The way Katyusha mumbled a small disagreement under her breathe and looked anywhere but into her captive's eyes told him she had no doubt in her sister's words.

"Good." Natalya crossed her arms and stepped back closer to face the man she had bound in her sister's basement and smiled wickedly. "Now I think I will use these," She waved the glasses she had removed from his face earlier, "to send your brother a message."

She leaned in close, her face inches from his. "I wouldn't want you to be lonely. After all, you came all this way to visit him, did you not? Is it not fitting that you leave the world the way you entered it? Together?"

_No! He couldn't let her bait his impulsive brother! _If given time to find him surely Alfred would use backup, maybe even coordinate a search party, but if just told where he was…Matt new his brother would just grab his gun and come running. The blood pumped through him and he struggled against the chair.

Natalya giggled again while her sister looked sick. "Oh? What is this? You don't want to see your brother? But I thought you were so close…" The notorious Byelorussian tapped a finger to her chin in mock thoughtfulness. "Maybe you would rather I extend my invitation to someone else, hmm? Oh I really could anger the mafia further couldn't I?" She giggled again as her words sent chills throughout the professor's body.

Heedless to his garbled protests, Natalya continued, "Ah, no…but then where would my fun be? I do not have anything against you, after all. No, but I will use you to get what I want."

He'd be damned if he'd let her use him to get to either his brother or the man he loved! Mathew had been too shocked to fight the Hungarian woman, he had thought anything would be better than staying with the mafia and so had not fought the Byelorussian as she took him from the assassins. However, as the understanding came upon him that he was not to be used to get his brother to leave town or drop a case, but as bait to lure him to his death, the usually reserved scholar shook the chair he was tied too with all his strength.

In response to the sounds of protest issuing from around the gag, Natalya laughed fully and then leaned back in, a wicked grin across her delicate features. She whispered malevolently, "Is there something you would like to tell me?"

The Byelorussian held her knife between her teeth as she reached around his head to untie the gag.

As soon as the material fell from his mouth to free his words, Mathew yelled at her in ways only reserved for hockey games. "You crazy woman! So Al doesn't want to make a deal, eh? You can't just fucking kidnap and kill people with immunity you psychotic dame! Plus," he continued, fully aware that the next words he spoke were a bluff, "Both my brother and Gil wouldn't come alone! They'd bring back up, and then you'll just end up in the slammer where you belong, eh!"

To his confusion, she giggled again. "What faith you have!" Suddenly serious, she looked down at him with steely eyes, "I know Agent Jones will come alone and your Gilbert will never find you. Never."

Trying to fight down the panic at her words, Matt spat back, "Don't you know the trouble you'll be in if you kill a BOI agent? All because he wouldn't make a deal with you! This is suicide; you're nothing but a two-bit hood!"

Ignoring the insults, Natalya continued to smile down at him. "Oh you are mistaken. I can take out Vargas on my own. This has nothing to do with the Italians…and that German mat' ooblyudok. No, this is for mo'ee braht." Her expression darkened ominously and she leaned ever closer, causing her Canadian captive to stop struggling as her eyes locked onto his. "Your brother will not poison my Vanya's mind against me any longer! I will take Alfred Jones from my big brother and Ivan will finally see that he belongs with me!"

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, his disgust so involuntary that he didn't filter his reaction. "Ew. Your brother? This is all because you want Ivan, your own brother? That's incest!" As the murderous look on her face confirmed her feelings, the captive scooted his chair back from her as he continued, "And you think killing Alfred is going to make Ivan love you? You really are crazy, eh!"

She advanced on him, "Da! The agent is only spoiling my brother's thoughts of me! I will free Mo'ee Vanya from his hold!" She looked thoroughly deranged, but Mathew was now possessed of a fatalistic anger. She was doing all this because she thought Ivan would reciprocate her incestuous feelings! She intended to manipulate his brother into coming here so she could kill him, and all for some delusion!

He wasn't going to just roll over and let her use him. The professor sat as straight as he could in the rusted metal chair. "I've seen them together," Oh he'd pay for this he was sure Matt thought as he went on undeterred, "and Ivan loves my brother. He loves him. And he'll never want to be with you!"

He did pay for it as he knew he would.

"Lies!" Natalya reached back and slapped him across the face, leaving a hot stinging sensation. She then retied the gag tightly and twirled her knife in front of his face. "You will not be allowed to lie to me again." Her words dripped poison as she steadied her hand and leveled the knife in front of him.

"Natalya! Really, is this wise?" The older sister squeaked from where she stood, back against the wooden door of the basement.

"Hush Katyusha!" Her younger sister bristled as she dragged the edge of the knife lightly across her captive's face, leaving a tiny cut in its wake along his right cheek. Relishing the slight hiss of pain the man couldn't hold in, she smiled. "I could kill you now, you know."

As she pulled back from his face, and wiped his blood from her knife with a dainty lace handkerchief a load bang echoed from upstairs followed by several women screaming.

The two sisters looked to eachother and ran from the basement, leaving their captive to wonder at what was going on upstairs. Had someone else come to kidnap him to use against his brother, or could he hope that maybe this time it was a rescue?

As it became clear through the sounds of the men yelling and Natalya shrieking that none above were speaking English or German, Matt slumped in his chair knowing he was not going to be rescued.

As he felt the blood trickle from the tiny cut along his cheek to drop into his collar, at the pain in his side from where he had fallen in the Hungarian's kitchen, the scratch of rope at his wrists, and the pain in his shoulders from having them tied behind his back so long, the young professor fought back panic and tears. He wasn't cut out for this, he hadn't had his brother's training, or Gilbert's understanding of the underworld; he was a scholar, a studious man who spent more time in the library than out, and had certainly never been involved in anything shady.

Alone in the dark of the basement, the Canadian let his head fall forward and his eyes close. He thought of his brother and hoped he wouldn't fall for the Byelorussian's trap. He thought of his crimson eyed German and hoped he would see him again, but didn't know how they could be together now. That was if he made it out alive, a prospect Matt tried to hold onto, but in the dark and cold of the basement, it was a prospect that was swiftly fading.

….

Above their captive in the dank basement, Natalya and Katyusha had rushed upstairs to see two men armed with guns in the main room. All of Madame Braginskaya's girls stood against the far wall, as far from the intruders as possible.

As soon as Natalya saw the two men, she recognized them as the cheka operatives who had left the summons for her brother, and as Katyusha rushed to send her terrified girls up the stairs, she watched her younger sister counter guns with knives as Natalya ducked and wove and zig zagged around the men, finally getting close enough to sink one of her weapons into the smaller of the two's neck.

The cheka assassin went down in a heap, still clutching at his throat as spurts of dark blood poured from around the protruding hilt, he gurgled, trying to speak as he died slowly, his eyes wide.

The other assassin was temporarily stunned. The information they had on Natalya Arlovskaya painted the portrait of a typical aristocratic debutante; they had expected a helpless spoiled girl and instead had found a vitriolic tsarist armed with knives that were little less than extensions of herself.

Never the less, the operative was a hardened assassin, part of the swift, silencing arm of the Soviet Union. He spoke to her in Russian, as he backed toward the basement door.

"Ya voz'mu Amerikanski. On prinadlyezhit k materi Rossii sye'eechas."

She laughed and could tell with satisfaction that the man had not expected that. This man thought she had Jones? She answered him smugly that this was the brother. "Nyet, etot muzhchina yavleat sya yego braht!"

At the look in the man's eyes as he realized the mistake he had made, Natalya laughed wickedly and advanced on the operative again, missing the blonde man who ran through the lobby to take hold of her older sister's hand as the two disappeared out a side door.

She screamed at him that he was nothing but a peasant armed with stolen weapons; that he best leave her brother alone, as he was fit for nothing but to clean his comrade's blood from her boots. Natalya accentuated this point by twisting her heel in the fallen cheka's blood that had pooled around his body.

The man still standing, kept his gun barrel level with her as he backed out the door. Maybe this was not his fight, however much he was tempted to take down another tsarist loyalist, he knew his assignment was to either get Braginski or the man their spies had seen with him. It was guessed that he would confess more readily if his lover was taken than the sisters he had been estranged from. However as he now knew where the soldier's family was, the operative knew he had two more chances for Braginski to confess if the American's abduction didn't do it.

First, he had to get away from the murderous aristocrat in order to call for another team to join him and take the agent. After not knowing the whereabouts of the sisters for so long, he now wanted more men to watch the two women in case they were needed.

Natalya ducked as he shot in the air, laying a cover of bullets as he ran out the back door, down the alley and away.

Standing once again, she winced. One of the stray bullets had shot through her forearm, ruining one of her favorite blouses. Natalya kicked the dead man on the floor as she stepped through the lobby looking for bandages and her sister.

…

As the Byelorussian bandaged her bloodied left arm and looked for her older sister, the pale German was just pulling up to the agent's apartment. Knowing Mathew was not going to be opening the door or coming down the stairs caused the red eyed man's heart to clinch painfully as he dismounted from his bike. Knowing his appearance would not be a welcome one, Gil none the less took the stairs two at a time to knock urgently against the agent's door.

Jumping at the sound of a fist banging on his door, Alfred Jones flashed his eyes to Ivan beside him and with his pistol in hand, he flung the door open.

"Beilschmidt!" The agent's blue eyes were first wide and then slits behind his glasses as he took in the fact that his brother was not with the distrusted German. "Where the hell is my brother!"

The words stuck in his throat, and to Gilbert's own surprise he was unable to get any out. It was only when the BOI agent cocked his gun and pointing it in his face, that the pale man was able to find his voice.

"I had nothing to do with this Jones," He didn't fear the gun pointed at him as much as the uncertainty his words delivered and they came out shakier than he had intended.

"Matt, was…he was taken. I was told Ludwig had been shot…" He ignored the look on the agent's face that said he hoped that had been the case and continued. "He was so brave, he told me to go, but I shouldn't have left him!" _Gott Verdammt, you sound hysterical! _Gilbert mentally shook himself and repeated, "I should not have left him."

"What? Who took him? Where is he? I know you know god damnit!" The American agent had the German bartender by the collar. Still brandishing his gun close to the pale man's head, Alfred sounded near to tears as he angrily shook the other man who didn't raise a hand in his defense. "And he thought you cared about him, and you just let your mob buddies take him!"

That was it! Gilbert would never forgive himself for leaving Mathew at the stadium, and he was on his way to severing all ties with the family his brother was in with. Though Feliciano had been a good friend, the way he could shrug his shoulders and just say he was sorry had done much to bring that friendship to an end. And Romano…the pale man flushed angrily at the thought of the boss's brother. Red eyes glared into blue as Gilbert broke free from the agent's hold and brought his own gun out from his jacket.

The two men stood in the doorway, each facing the other. The pale haired German had eyes only for the agent, not noticing the Russian behind him chanting softly and ominously.

"I do care about him!" Gilbert spoke wildly. "Mathew is, he is the…" He was suddenly at a loss, as the anger boiled in his blood. "Mathew is everything to me! Ludwig's friends are not my friends! That fucker Romano tricked me and ordered Matt's abduction!" Seeing that the agent had lowered his gun and was finally speechless listening to him, the capo's brother stepped into the house and closed the door behind him.

Gilbert lowered his own weapon looking from the American agent to the Russian soldier, as both men regarded him warily. The eerie chanting had stopped when he lowered his gun.

The pale man continued, "I found out who had abducted him, but before I could even leave, word came that he had been taken from Edelstein's by some unknown woman." He paced, and ran a shaking hand through his white hair in frustration and guilt. "I got nothing from that fucker, Edelstein, and nothing but bruises from his Elizabeta…" He turned back to the two other men, his eyes wild. "I don't know who took him or where he is."

Alfred had found his voice again, "You don't know where he is!" fists clenched in anger, he went on, "You know what Matt said to me before he left when I told him to take his gun?" The agent closed the space between himself and the albino again. "Do you?"

As his Canadian's brother shouted at him, Gilbert stood still, his crimson eyes simply looking into blue so similar, but not quite the same, as his Mathew's. He didn't bother to answer, knowing Agent Jones would tell him.

Inches from his face, the agent's blue eyes were slits again and his words like a barb, as Alfred answered his own question, each syllable was its own painful jab.

"He said, I'll be with Gilbert, I'll be fine!"

In an instant Gilbert's heart felt as though it was bleeding out, his stomach as though it was constructed of lead. The other man's words had cut him to the quick and the usually cocky German who didn't bat an eye at his dangerous life felt like he was dying and knew it was deserved.

"Alfred," Ivan's voice broke through the silent tension as the Russian stepped forward to stand between the two men. "Look at him, Lyoubov. He is in as much pain as you."

The agent looked to his love and then followed Ivan's eyes back to Gilbert, who had slumped into a kitchen chair and freed the little yellow bird form his pocket. Gilbird flew in small circles above the man's head.

"Hmph." Alfred didn't want to admit that it at least appeared that Ivan was right. He crossed over to the table, and leaning on the opposite chair, Al looked to the man his brother had fallen so hard for, so hard he was now in danger god knows where. "And what happens when you go back to your brother, back to _la famiglia_?" he stressed the last words, filling them with sarcasm. Expressing anger at the man currently slumped at his kitchen table kept the panic about his brother under the surface.

The man with the red eyes surprised Alfred with his response as Gilbert looked up. "Of course I can not go home now Jones." The pale man continued, his brow furrowed. "I have just told my brother and Don Vargas," he used Feliciano's formal title, further distancing himself form the younger man he had once counted as a friend, "That I won't allow them to hurt Mathew. I then accosted two of the Vargas's assassins."

Gilbert shook his head wondering at how the evening had turned upside down so thoroughly. "Nein, I will not be going home for some time."

The agent groaned as he stepped away from the table. "You can stay here" Alfred said as he walked back to stand beside the taller Russian who put an arm around his waist, pulling him close against his side. Maybe the Capo's brother could be persuaded to become an informant. Surely he had intimate knowledge that would be helpful to the bureau. "But," the blonde continued, "I expect you to help me find him." Alfred could hear the waver in his voice now, as his anger began to subside under the growing tide of anxiety and guilt. These were his enemies; no one had hated his brother until he had gotten mixed up in this, until he had told him to go out on the town..

The German stood. "Why do you think I am here, Jones?" Gilbert's eyes were incredulous and as Alfred hadn't noticed before; his irises were not the only thing red about them, it looked like the pale man had been holding in tears for some time. "Finding Mathew and making sure he is safe is the only thing that will bring my soul peace, though I will never forgive myself for leaving him alone in the first place. "

Alfred fought back the retort on his lips that said Gilbert was right to not forgive himself, and instead focused on how they would find his brother. "So do you have any ideas about who the woman could be?"

The albino shook his head. "I had hoped you might know. She isn't associated with the mafia."

All was still and silent for a moment as the three men thought. Finally, it was Ivan who spoke up soft and sadly.

"She may be working with the cheka."

Ivan turned his American toward him and gazed down into Alfred's clear blue eyes, his own violet clouded in thought. "It is possible they took Mathew when they were after you, mo'ee Americanski."

The American agent reached both arms to take hold of Ivan's scarf and looking into sorrowful violet eyes, he spoke low. "I have to find him. If it was the cheka…I don't have long, do I?" He continued, feeling the pit of cold in his stomach spreading throughout his body. "If it is the cheka, Vanya, what will they do when they realize he isn't me?"

His lover's silence was all the answer he needed. Al let the scarf ends drop from his fingers as he considered his next moves.

"I have to go to the office. I have to see what I can find out. I'll go through all the information we have on female cheka operatives, I'll cross reference anything we have on enemies of the Vargas's in case it's an inter-mob thing instead," The blonde agent had stepped back from Ivan and was now slipping his gun into the government issued holster. He slipped it over his shoulder, and reaching for his coat and hat Alfred continued to think out loud. "I won't stop until I find my brother. _Mattie, _he thought, _he isn't part of this world, he should never have gotten mixed up in any of this. _Guilt clenched at his stomach and fueled his protective brotherly impulses. He had to find him, save him, and teach whoever was responsible a lesson!

"What can I do?" Gilbert spoke up from where he stood his tiny yellow bird now settled on the German's shoulder.

"Da, If you have a plan, Derogoy, tell me how can I help?" Ivan echoed Gilbert from across the livingroom as the Russian watched the American pace.

"Well…" Alfred looked to both men and sighed. "I'm afraid neither of you will be allowed in at the Bureau. "Vanya," Alfred strode back to the broad Russian, "My love, they'll totally think you're a spy and we'll both be in trouble. I mean, what can I say," The charismatic American tried to make light and cracked a sad smile, "He's no spy, he's my boyfriend?"

Ivan brushed a hand through his love's golden hair, lingering on the agent's adorable cowlick. He knew there was no way he could accompany his man to work. "Nyet, I agree." Ivan did understand, but still the prospect of staying put and waiting while his Americanski was out there, possibly falling into a cheka trap, did not sit well with him. He was unaware of the way his hold tightened protectively around his Alfred's hips.

The American gave in to the protective hold, leaning in against his love's chest, trying to continue to suppress the panic he was feeling for his brother. Alfred turned his head to the troubled German. "And Gilbert, clearly you understand why you will not be allowed access to valuable files?"

The pale man brought his fist down on the tabletop. "Because of my brother. My connections to the mafia…I know. Got Verdammt, how do you expect me to just stand here?"

The Agent's Russian love echoed the German's sentiment. "Da, Alfred, you will call as soon as you find anything?" Ivan leaned down to whisper into his Americanski's ear, "And call to tell me you are alright, da?"

"I'll call." Alfred whispered back as he laid a kiss to Ivan's jaw just above his scarf, before voicing louder, "As soon as I find anything I'll come home and we'll go rescue Mathew!"

Feeling the sense of foreboding hanging in the air, seeing the worried expression on his Vanya's face and the tragic slump in the pale German's shoulders, Alfred remembered an old mantra, 'fake it till ya make it'. He reached up into his Russian's pale hair to bring the other man's lips to his own in a deep kiss, and then as they broke he made himself put on a grin of false confidence.

"I'll be back before you miss me; we'll get the people responsible and I'll teach them to take my brother!" _God if Mattie had been hurt…_ But Alfred shook the image from his mind and gave a look of confident determination to both men and raised his chin as heroically as possible. He pointed to the capo's brother now sitting once again at the kitchen table. "I still don't entirely trust you, but I believe your remorse…you better mean it and not hurt my brother!" Before Gilbert could say anything back, Alfred had gripped the door and now faced Ivan, "I love you. Don't worry."

The blonde waited long enough to hear his sentiment returned before he raced out the door, down the stairs and on his way to work. Glad that his rank allowed him unlimited access as it was well past midnight.

…

As Agent Jones was turning the key to his office, his usual enemies, the Vargas brothers, had been deep into their argument for a while.

The older yelled and swore, while the younger sighed and argued expressively, half in English, half in rapid Italian.

As his petite brunette argued with his brother, Ludwig stood beside his Japanese friend in the hall outside Feliciano's office, both knowing the best thing to do was to let the brothers argue.

While he kept an eye on Feliciano and Romano through the glass door, careful to know when he might have to step in, the tall German's mind was on his own brother. Gilbert could be as infuriating a Romano was to Feliciano, and frequently drove Ludwig crazy, but really his older brother had practically raised him and had always been there for him, keeping him sane during the war, and providing a safe haven for Feli's family at the Roost. Ludwig subconsciously clenched his jaw as he thought about what had happened earlier and Feliciano's unspoken questions.

What would happen now? He believed his brother when he said he loved the man, Gilbert had never said he loved any of his romantic partners in the past. Not to mention that the look on his older brother's face had said that the words had come out involuntarily, that it had been a sudden realization.

Ludwig watched his expressive Feliciano as he argued; he heard his name and his brother's come up occasionally and shifted uncomfortable on his feet. While watching his petite man argue with his hot headed brother, Ludwig was reminded of the power love exerts over those within its thrall.

He knew he wanted to spend every moment of the rest of his life with his petite Italian boss. The blonde ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly. He knew he would do anything for his Feli, he would protect him at all costs, there was no amount of men he wouldn't kill to keep his Feliciano at the top, safe, and happy.

Knowing this, he knew his brother would not give up either. Gilbert would do all he could to find and rescue the man he loved. Regardless of the consequences; uncaring that if he did so, he went against Feliciano's organization.

What would he do if his older brother went directly against the mafia, if he joined with the agent? Ludwig knew he'd never kill his own brother, and he knew Feliciano would never ask him too, but it would be the height of naivety to think that nothing would be done. His petite love was the youngest Don in history, and he had to fight hard to keep his respect. Respect that would disappear the second Feliciano let it known that his heart ruled his judgment.

Ludwig's own heart clenched at the thought of having to choose between his brother and Feliciano. The broad German stood up from the wall he'd been leaning against and shoved is hands into his pockets. If he had to choose he knew he'd try to find a way that no one was killed. If that wasn't possible he wasn't sure how he would handle it; he knew he loved his Feli more than breath and would never leave him; at the same time, he knew he could never stand by to let someone take out his brother, he and Gilbert were each the only family the other had.

Kiku sat silently polishing his kitana watching the reactions of his friends. The German who clearly had more on his mind than was healthy, and the two Italians who were unaware that by arguing so often they could rip their organization in two.

As for the brothers, Feliciano was finding it hard not to regress into their childhood dynamic and had to remind himself that though he was younger, he was the boss and his older brother was supposed to answer to him.

Instead, Romano was trying to change the subject and turn the blame on to his younger brother.

"You are-a mad at me fratellino, when you put your entire life, our entire family's place, in jeopardy by being with this-a dannazione mangiatore tedesco di patate?" Romano countered Feliciano as the younger brother again reiterated his point.

"Veh! Romano, how could you use Ludwig to get Jones's brother alone? And why didn't you tell me Ludwig's brother was dating the agent's?" He understood why Ludwig had not shared his suspicions, Gilbert was his brother and he had hoped to be wrong; Romano had had more than suspicions, he had known, watched them. There was no reason for his older brother not to have filled him in about everything he knew and what he was planning.

The darker haired Italian crossed his arms defiantly. "I don't have to fucking tell-a you everything fratello!"

Feliciano sighed again and threw his hands into the air. "Si! You do Romano! Grandpa put me in charge, how am I supposed to make decisions if I do not have all the information?" As his older brother rolled his eyes and huffed, Feliciano continued.

"Veh~" he sighed and desperately wanted to shake his older brother by the shoulders but didn't. "And what is your problem with this particular job? Why are you taking everything so personally Romano? I have nothing against the Canadian, I just want his brother out of town, but you, you get so angry! What is going on fratello?"

"Nothing! It is-a just a job and I don't-a care about it anymore than any others! That puttana Canadese can live or die and I don't-a give a shit!" The young Don didn't miss the shaking fists or darkened expression, as his brother radiated rage.

Having always been an empathic kind of guy, and cued into his own emotions about Ludwig, a sudden realization hit Feliciano like a weight to his chest. The younger Italian's voice went higher and he stepped closer to his brother. "You hypocrite! È lui! Sei attratto da Gilbert! You're jealous! Jealous of that Canadian!"

His brother backed away, but the older Italian's suddenly wide eyes told Feliciano that he was right. "No! No I am-a not-a!" Romano looked past his brother to the hall outside the door; to Kiku who was watching them argue and to Ludwig who was clearly trying to put together his lover's words. Romano had no idea how much Italian the German understood. His attention was brought back to his younger brother however, as the petite Mafioso grabbed hold of his arm.

"Si! You do Romano! Veh! I can't believe I never noticed!" Feliciano went on as his brother's face continued to betray him. "How long has this been going on? Since you and Antonio argued about going back to Spain? But you've been with women since then! That's why I thought I could count on you to give grandpa the great grandchildren that will follow me!" He sighed again as his brother yanked his arm out of Feliciano's grip and floundered for a retort. "Veh~"

"I don't-a, I mean-a.." Romano struggled with his words and his rage. "You don't know what-a you're talking about, Feliciano!"

His younger brother didn't fall for it. "Don't lie to me fratello!" Feliciano sighed and moved around his brother to flop into the leather seat behind his desk. The petite Mafioso rested his elbows on the polished wood and dropped his chin into his hands.

"Veh, Romano…" The younger brother sighed and continued, not meeting his brother's eyes. "But now we don't have the agent's brother, we have no way to persuade him to leave town, unless the Russian..." Feliciano looked up. "But why, fratello? Veh~ Why couldn't you have just gotten someone Gilbert didn't know to grab that Mathew Williams? Why did you use Ludwig as an excuse for him to leave?"

All that answered him was a low string of half-finished cursing as his brother paced in front of the desk.

"Romano?" Feliciano lowered his hands and opened his eyes fully to look at his brother.

His older brother stopped and leaning one arm on the seat in front of the desk, he looked at Feliciano questioningly. "Si?"

"I don't have any leverage now." The young Mafioso sighed, as a shadow crossed his face. "Veh~ We may have to take Jones for a ride." Feliciano sighed again as he dropped his chin back into his hands. "Why didn't you tell me fratello, that you liked Ludwig's brother? I wouldn't have…

But the young don didn't finish his sentence. As he had just said it all in English, his German capo's suspicions were confirmed outside in the hall. Ludwig swung the door open and entered the office.

"Veh! Ludwig~" Feliciano gestured toward Romano and sighed, leaning back in his chair and dropping his arms from the desk.

"Vhat is this? You and mein bruder?" He stared at Romano shocked. There had been a time when Ludwig would have held his tongue, considering that Romano technically had the power to have him killed. But not anymore. _Romano could try._

The tall blonde glanced toward his petite love behind the desk and then advanced on Feliciano's older brother.

To be honest, things would have been easier, in the business anyway, if Gilbert had reciprocated Romano's feelings. However, it was clear his brother had never thought of Feliciano's in that way. Maybe it had been the quick friendship Gilbert had had with Antonio during their time in Madrid, or that earlier that month he'd made the offhand comment that he wasn't into Italians, or the fact that Gil tolerated Feliciano's family occupation and no more. Whatever the cause, Ludwig knew his brother had fallen hard for the agent's and for this Romano thought he could use his older brother's protective worries against him?

While these thoughts were going through his head, Ludwig had taken Feliciano's brother by his lapels and was holding the scowling cursing Italian off the floor. The capo only realized his actions against the boss's brother when he felt Feliciano pulling on his arm.

"Veh! Ludwig!" Feliciano panicked. His Grandpa had always taught him the closer the family, the more dangerous the rival; so far he and his brother had only fought over trivial things, and Feliciano tried to make sure it stayed that way.

Their yakuza friend rushed into the room just as the boss lowered his voice to a hush as he spoke to his love, "Mio Amore, per favore!"

The capo cleared his head as he realized just what he'd done. Ludwig released his Feli's brother immediately, Romano landed shakily on his feet.

"È figlio di puttana stupida! Idiota tedesco!" Romano fumed and pulled the pistol from his jacket. Feliciano squeeked "Mio Dio, no! As his German love pulled his own weapon on his hot headed brother.

The two men eyed eachother. Ludwig's heart raced. What the hell was he doing?

As the capo and the boss's brother faced eachother, cool blue eyes slits as they glared down into wild dark brown, the yakuza and the mafioso were each trying to get Ludwig and Romano to lower thier weapons.

His heart knocked against his ribs, but Ludwig wouldn't lower his gun first. He spoke in a low growl, the half of his mind screaming rationally at him to just put the weapon down was ignored. "My bruder vill not be mixed up in our business again." He spoke frankly to the impulsive italian with the gun pointed squarely up at him.

"Romano," Ludwig's face flushed from the speed at which his blood was pumping. "Believe me vhen I say things vould be much easier if Gilbert felt the same vay about you." _Well,_ he thought, _maybe a couple as annoying as that would mean hell for his personal life, but easier for his and feliciano's professional life._ "But," He continued, "It is unfortunate that he does not. Mien bruder could not have chosen a vorse man to fall for, but that is vhat happened. You should have told Feliciano vhat you knew." Slowly he lowered the gun a miniscule amount and was glad to see Romano echoing the movement.

"Never forget he is your boss as vell as your brother." Ludwig continued, thinking how all this could have been avoided had Romano shared his information and schemes with Feliciano. "Do you not realize there are consequences to your actions?"

Romano lowered his weapon finally and spun it once before concealing it under his suit coat. Seeing the capo do the same, the boss's brother pushed past the German toward the door. "Don't-a forget he is still-a yours as well, and my actions aren't the only ones that have-a consequences!"

The angry Italian stopped in the doorway and turned to his brother. "Feliciano, I _will_ take-a care of Agent Jones." With one glance to his brother's German love, he then looked back to Feliciano leaning against his desk. "We'll-a go over the plan together fratello."

Romano didn't wait for a responce before walking through the door and slamming it behind him.

Ludwig turned slowly to his petite Italian. Feliciano was still standing in front of his desk, leaning back against the polished wood. Beloved caramel eyes downcast.

What had he been thinking? Ludwig felt a pang of guilt and anxiety shoot through him as Feliciano continued looking at the ground. The German turned to his Japanese friend.

Kiku looked decidedly uncomfortable and it was with an obvious sense of relief that he accepted Ludwig's request to follow Romano and see that he had calmed down. Stowing his sword away once again, the yakuza member left the two mobsters in privacy.

Ludwig sighed deeply and spoke before approaching the man he loved. "Feliciano?"

The petite boss looked up after a moment. "hm?" The Italian's eyes were shrouded in thought and returned to the crimson carpet.

_Gott, what have I__ done? _Ludwig moved closer tentatively. Had he really messed up? The blonde stood next to the shorter brunette and moved his hand to within an inch of Feliciano's. He thought hard to recall the words he'd heard from the lips of many ill-fated Italians, and then added the words he'd heard from his love many times recently. After taking a deep breathe he went for it, well aware that the syllables didn't come out as beautiful as when his Italian spoke in German for him.

"Mi Scuso, mio amore." The words felt strange on his tongue, but had an immediate effect on the man they were meant for.

Feliciano looked up instantly. "Veh~ Oh Ludwig!" The slight brunette took the hand that rested so close to his own and leaned into his German lover's broad chest. "You spoke Italian!"

The taller man lifted his love's delicate chin and peered meaningfully into wide eyes. "I am sorry, geliebte. I should not have reacted the vay I did, I know ve have to keep Romano on our side." Ludwig felt his face color with embarrassment that he had lost his control so thoroughly. "It vill not happen again. I svear to you Feli."

"Veh~" Feliciano sighed and the shadow returned to his eyes. "there is that, but I don't reallly think Romano wants the responsibility of my position..." He sighed again and felt his strong capo's hand move from his chin to cup his cheek and then up into his hair as the Italian felt his back encircled by the German's other arm to bring them closer.

Feliciano leaned into that large hand as it combed through his mahogany locks. "Veh~" I worry...Ludwig? What if Gilbert goes after Romano? What I would be expected to do...I couldn't, wouldn't...Veh! Il mio amore, what can I do?"

Ludwig really didn't know what to say. This very question had been weighing on him as well since Gilbert's declaration of love for the agent's brother. He held onto the man in his arms silently.

Feliciano sighed again and spoke softly against Ludwig's chest. "I will not order a hit on your fratello."

The German had to admit that hearing those words had made him feel an instant wave of relief. He moved his hand through his love's hair and spoke low. "Und I meant vhat I said earlier. I vill never leave you Feli. No matter vhat happens."

"Ti amo." The Mafioso whispered, much happier now.

Ludwig moved the hand in Feli's hair down to the small of the petite man's back. "Ich liebe dich auch."

The German tried to push his worries to the back of his mind. There were so many things he needed to do, but there was nothing he _could_ do. He had an idea where his brother was, but there was nothing he could do about it. Until he and Feli could figure out where the Canadian was, there was nothing he could do about that either. The inability to do what needed to be done wracked him with restless energy and a mounting sense of failure.

However at the words his Feliciano asked him, Ludwig was able to push his restlessness to the back of his mind. The petite brunette moved against his chest and loosened the tall blonde's tie. "Veh~ Ludwig, I'm tired." Warm eyes looked up into cool blue through long lashes. "Will you stay with me again?"

"Of course, Feli." The tall German lifted his smaller partner into a deep kiss and echoed his Italian's sigh with his own.

Feliciano knit his fingers together behind Ludwig's neck and pulled himself further up into his lover's arms. The Italian wrapped his legs around his German's waist as the two men left the office space to move across the Don's penthouse toward the bedroom. As he entered the east facing room, Ludwig could see the pinkish light of dawn breaking around the buildings below.

The petite boss rested his head on his beloved capo's broad shoulder, Feliciano's eyes were half closed as Ludwig felt light kisses along his neck His actions against Romano earlier seemed to be forgiven and forgotten.

"Mmm," Ludwig vocalized his pleasure through closed lips. "Feli, mein liebe." The capo sat down on the large luxurious bed they'd shared for the past few nights. He relaxed his hold on his Italian love, but Feliciano didn't move his head from his shoulder. "Feli?"

Deep slow breathes answered him. He had had a long day; Ludwig yawned himself as he pulled the coverlet back and laid Feliciano down easily. The capo lovingly undressed the young don, careful to not wake his love, before joining him beneath the blankets.

The serious German wrapped his arms around the Italian who sighed softly and mumbled in his sleep. Yes, it had been a very long day. From bumping into that verdammt Jones, to dealing with the other family heads, to having Feli's brother trick his own, to then hearing his brother loved, actually loved, the Canadian professor, to then finding out they had lost the agent's brother to some unknown woman, and then the debacle with Romano just a moment ago after finding out the reason Feli's brother had seemed to be taking everything so personally. Mein Gott, it had been a long day. The blonde's brows were knit tightly and he felt a headache coming on. Just as he was thinking there was no way he could sleep with so much left to do, the smaller man in his arms mumbled again softly in Italian. It seemed Feliciano was dreaming of pasta and asking him a question. Taking a chance, Ludwig whispered "Ja." Clearly it was the right answer as the slumbering Mafioso smiled and scooted in closer against him, his words giving way to deep slow breaths once again.

Ludwig sighed deeply, held his sleeping lover close, and focusing hard enough, found that the sound of Feliciano breathing could clear his thoughts. He'd just have to let his subconscious work on the problems his waking mind was tired of thinking about.

….

Tuesday the 21st of December. About 7:00 am.

"Mmmph?" Alfred Jones raised his head from his desk. _Damnit, he'd fallen asleep?_ The agent peeled back the sheet of paper from his face. It detailed one of the many lady assassins for which the bureau kept a file, one of which he had been going through all night in an effort to find who would have the most cause to take his brother.

The blonde straightened his glasses which had gone askew and blinked around the room. His stomach was still in uncomfortable knots, and now with no one around, Alfred was finding it harder to keep up his brave façade.

The agent looked down at the files spread out before him. They covered his desk, yet offered no answers. None of these women had quite fit the bill to be the unknown woman who took his brother.

Alfred ran his hands through his hair frantically, feeling the rapid heartbeat of panic as the emotion threatened to take hold of him again. He dropped his elbows to the desk, bowing over the scattering of paperwork and profiles. The usually confident man gave into his despair and panicked inner monologue.

"God," he prayed, "If you're up there, oh man, you gotta help me out, Mattie's such a good guy, he's so the better one, I mean, c'mon he's a damn pacifist! Sorry for the 'damn' bit there…." Alfred choked on the tears fighting their way past his crumbling defenses. "But God, he's my brother! It oughta be me – He's a teacher, he's not…not…you know prepared for this shit!" The American agent dropped his head to the desk, raking hands through tangled golden locks.

The despair won out as the tears clung to his lashes and dropped onto the desk below him. For a few hellish minutes Alfred was unable to control himself under the crushing hopelessness he now felt. What was happening to Mathew right now? Was he even alive? Who had him? What did they want him to do?

These questions raced eachother through his mind with no answers until finally Al released the hold on his hair to clench into fists as he lifted his head and rubbed at the tears in his eyes.

This wasn't doing any good. _Crying like a little girl…what kind of an intelligence agent am I anyway? _Alfred thought angrily as he brought his fists down on his desktop. He looked at the useless files again and they made his stomach churn. He was supposed to be the hero, save the helpless, get the bad guy, etc, yet he couldn't even find the fucking broad responsible for kidnapping his brother!

Suddenly the papers were flung from his desk as he stood, kicking his chair back where it banged into the wall and fell sideways onto the tile floor. "Fuck this!" He yelled to the walls of his office, "I'll find out who took him if I have to deal with every mother fucking criminal in this city!"

The agent had just turned toward his door to head home and tell Ivan and he supposed, Gilbert, all about the plan. He didn't trust that German, but the former pilot had to admit the capo's speakeasy owning brother would have access to a lot of scum.

He was lost in these thoughts as he reached the door and only barely noticed the large envelope someone had slid beneath the crack.

It was addressed to him in the swirling neat cursive of a feminine hand. Alfred stooped to pick up the envelope from the floor. There was something more than paper in it. Curiosity fully aroused, the agent ripped open the manila envelope.

For a moment his heart stopped. His lungs refused to pump air. His brain didn't let his thoughts reach him.

And then it all flooded his senses as he stared the pair of glasses in his hand, his brother's glasses.

The heart that had stopped now beat frantically, His lungs took in more breath than needed, and his thoughts raced back too fast to hold onto through his mind.

Somehow he had moved backwards to sit on his desk. Numb fingers held his brother's glasses in one hand while he shakily pulled the note from the envelope. Alfred held the letter in hand as he read and re-read the words.

At first he couldn't believe it. He hadn't thought…but then why not? Didn't it just make sense? The craziest, most volatile dame in the city…Natalya.

Ivan's younger sister had already tried to kill him once and her bizarre unhealthy fixation on her brother…well, it gave her reason to hate him…But what did she want? What did she hope to accomplish by kidnapping Mathew?

Blue eyes wide, he scanned the letter again, each word sinking into his mind as he analyzed it for motive and planning. The Byelorussian's 'invitation' was short and to the point, if…odd.

_Dearest Agent Jones,_

_I would love to invite you to a little get together in the basement of the gold star_

_Your brother is already here. He very much would love to see you attend._

_We are having such fun. Do not tell anyone else, or it might spoil things for 'Mattie'_

_Warmest regards, Natalya_

_Oh, and come alone. It is a private party._

Like hell he wouldn't tell Ivan! Alfred had already walked briskly to the phone in his office when he stopped. His fingers hovered over the numbered buttons. The letter had said, _don't tell anyone else_. But how would she hope to know if he told anyone? Slowly the agent replaced the receiver.

Vargas had crooked agents on the take, what if Ivan's sister had as well? It was certainly likely if she wanted to replace the mafia…the letter had made it under his door somehow…

Already he didn't know who he could trust in the bureau, and now there were two rival organizations to deal with. Alfred took a deep breath and reached into his desk drawer to pull out his gun and several rounds of ammunition. He hoped he could avoid shooting his Vanya's sister, but if it came down to being her or Matt, the choice was clear.

Alfred felt a guilty pang in his chest as he realized he'd told Ivan he would call him; the American bit at his lip in thought. His Russian love would most certainly want to take part in this; Ivan would no doubt be mad that he hadn't called to tell him he knew who it was, to tell him he was alright, to ask him to come with him. Surely his Bolshevik beau would be able to get through to his own sister best…even if she terrified him.

Alfred's hand itched to pick up the phone again, but he fought the urge. The American agent justified his action by telling himself that he really couldn't trust that he wasn't being watched this second, and besides, now that he knew who had his brother and where, Alfred could bust in gun blasting, rescue his brother and be home in time for lunch!

Yeah, that was it. The agent stowed his weapon in its holster, flung the door open wide and rushed from his office; he darted past the few surprised coworkers who weren't used to seeing Agent Jones in so early in the morning and looking like he hadn't left the night before.

He raced through the building, too impatient for the elevator; Alfred took the stairs and raced through the revolving door, leaving it spinning in his wake.

The blonde hopped aboard the 'L' heading toward the Ukrainian district and tapped his foot urgently as he watched for the right stop. He smiled. Thank God…Matt was still alive! He was going to rescue his brother and arrest Ivan's sister. He didn't think his commie sweetheart would argue about that, I mean she had broken the law, a pretty big one. In any rate, her arrest would only end in her deportation which was exactly what they both wanted.

Alfred steadied his breath as he leaned the back of his head against the wall behind his seat as he got closer to his destination. Yes, he'd rescue Mattie, send Natalya packing to Belarus, and be home in time for lunch. His brother would be back to complaining about he and Ivan's displays of affection and heated political arguments. Mathew would be back to making pancakes, laughing with him, and getting more excited about history than anyone had business being.

The agent patted the ammo in his coat pocket. He knew Ivan's sister wouldn't be alone, she still had some men, but Natalya had another thing coming if she thought he'd go down without a fight.

…

_And that's Ch. 12! _

_What will happen once Alfred arrives at the Gold Star? Will things go according to his plan or will he fall into Natalya's trap? What lies in store for Feliciano and Ludwig as their brothers seem fated to become enemies? What will become of Gilbert and Mathew's love, will it be allowed to blossom or never have the chance? What happens when the conversation moves to the War and the topic of family between Gilbert and Ivan? Only uncertainty is certain in this world, but more will become clear in Chapter 13!_

_New phrases and words in Russian, Italian, and slang:_

_Nyet. Yego braht= no, his brother._

_two-bit hood= small time criminal_

_mat' ooblyudok = mother fucker_

_Ya voz'mu Amerikanski. On prinadlyezhit k materi Rossii sye'eechas.= I will take the American. He belongs to Mother Russia now._

_Nyet, etot muzhchina yavleat sya yego braht!" = no, this man is his brother. _

_dannazione mangiatore tedesco di patate= damn potato eating german_

_puttana Canadese = canadian whore_

_È lui! Sei attratto da Gilbert= its him! You're attracted to Gilbert!_

_È figlio di puttana stupida! Idiota tedesco = You son of a whore, you stupid German!_

_Mi Scuso, mio amore = I'm sorry, my love_

…

_As always I love you all for reading! _

_Please, Bitte, Per favore, Pazhaloosta, keep reviewing, your reviews keep me going! _

_I hope to get chapter 13 out within two weeks, and I promise a lot of action…and that you just might cry…_

_For those reading Ivan Kupala also, I'm now on my way to writing the next installment, you should have ch. 6 in the next few days._

_Who needs sleep? Not me!  
_


	13. Chapter 13

_Hello my lovely readers! I apologize for the wait on this chapter and certainly hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I work pretty much everyday from 9am to 8pm, with one day a week off, and shorter days on the weekends which is why this chapter has taken a little longer than usual to get to you. I'm already underway with chapter 14 so hopefully that will be done sooner! _

_In chapter 13, the plot deepens, the rifts between the two sides grow more pronounced as you will see that a good day for one couple spells a disastrous one for the others and nothing goes easily for any involved. Love blossoms, death looms, and Christmas approaches. Will everyone make it to the holiday?_

_As Always, Spasiba moya sestrenka for your encouragement as I try to find the time to write (which makes me oh so happy) and for being the Gil to my Vanya in a certain conversation. _

_Three songs are featured in this chapter. The first is the 1926 hit 'Deed I do' performed by Ruth Etting, which you can listen to here. _http : /www .youtube .com /watch?v=ihH1E8IcNd I&feature= BFa&list= PL4A7E646 CC494D020& index=37

_The second is 'My Slow and Easy Man' by Bessie Smith (1921) a song that is seemingly impossible to find online anywhere! And the third is 'I asked the Aspen Tree' A Russian folksong. I know, I know, 1926 and 1921...a bit into the future, but so perfect, we'll pretend, shall we, that they were hits in 1920._

_And now, without taking a moment longer, I give you,_

_..._

Tuesday, 21st of December, 1920. 7:30am

Ludwig turned back toward the bed. stowing the comb in his breastpocket, the blonde sat beside his sleeping love. Gazing down at Feliciano as he slept, one certainty overrode the many troubling thoughts in the German capo's mind. A light smile flitted across the serious man's face as his brow relaxed a bit.

"Ich liebe dich, Feli." Ludwig leaned down to brush the stray mahogany strands of his lover's hair back from the Italian's face.

Though he had much to do today, including an attempt to talk to his brother, looking down at Feliciano as he slept brought a little bit of peace to Ludwig's heart. No one would guess the responsibilities weighing on the petite Italian, half in and half out of his blankets. In his slumber the mafioso was simply Feliciano; the baby-faced civilian he had met in a time so different, it was as though it had been another life. Ludwig owed his life to the young don who suddenly rolled in his sleep to fling an arm across the larger man's knee, but that wasn't why he loved him.

There was just so much about the smaller man; Feliciano was everything Ludwig needed, everything the tall blonde was not. The capo's stomach knotted in painful guilt at the memory of what he had done the night before. Regardless of how he felt about Romano and the impulsive man's actions, Ludwig had never wanted to see that downcast look in his Feli's eyes. He never wanted to see his love's caramel eyes clouded in doubt, not when it was Ludwig he was looking to.

He had to do something to assure Feliciano that he meant what he'd said. Something more than taking out his enemies; more than anything he'd done before. Blue eyes moved over his sleeping man's face and to the windows over looking their city.

Christmas was coming soon, he hadn't yet bought Feliciano a present...

As his capo looked to the Chicago skyline outside thinking of what he could give his love, the don stirred in his bed, slowly, warm caramel brown eyes blinked in the light.

"Ve~?" the petite mafioso sat up on his elbows, leaning against the headboard. "Ready for work so early, mio amore?" The don smiled and then yawned, stretching against the headboard behind him.

"Ja, Feli." The capo laid a hand on the boss's outstretched leg. "I vill try to talk to my bruder after taking care of our other business."

Feliciano leaned forward from the headboard and into his German lover's broad chest. "Ah, Si." He had almost forgotten about the trial one of his men had coming up; there were witnesses to persuade or silence and his hardworking man always got the job done. "Grazie."

Feliciano sat up fully and turned in toward Ludwig, whose strong arms were already encircling the slight Italian. "Veh~ I should get up soon as well, but I don't want to..." His arms already up and draped around Ludwig's neck, Feliciano slid effortlessly to meet his blue-eyed love's lips with his own.

Reluctantly pulling back from the kiss, the petite mafioso toyed with the button holes in the lapels of the larger man's open coat. Feliciano's eyes looked up again into those of sky blue. "Will it take you long?"

Feeling his blood rush through his veins, Ludwig was finding it harder to leave than he had felt before Feliciano woke. The taller man had to focus to remind himself what needed to be done; remind himself that his responsibilities always had to be taken care of first. Regardless of how his heart beat raced and told him how easy it would be to lay his petite Italian man back against the bed and leave work for later.

_Nein._ With great will power, the German shook those seductive thoughts from his mind. The sun was up, soon people within the organization and without would be calling up his lover, the don of Chicago, to ask for favors, pay back debts, and report in on jobs they had been given. Ludwig sighed imperceptibly. and ran a hand through his Italian's soft hair before slowly extricating himself from Feliciano's hold. "I should be no longer than noon, I doubt I vill have any trouble." _Except perhaps with Gilbert.._ Ludwig finished the sentence in his mind, standing, hands in the pockets of his coat.

Feliciano brightened and stood from the bed as well. "Then we can have lunch together!"

"Ja," the blonde didn't hold in the chuckle that broke forth from his throat at his love's exhuberance. "Vhat vould you like me to bring back? Or vould you rather go out?"

Feliciano closed the distance between them again, reaching into his taller man's pockets to twine their fingers together. "Veh~ bring something back." The petite boss looked up into his capo's controlled face, happily noting the pinkish tinge as Ludwig blushed. "That way we can be alone, and don't have to pretend."

Ludwig's heart beat faster as he felt his words sticking in his throat. the boss was pressed against his capo, and the German was all too aware that his Italian love wore only his underwear and crucifix as he felt Feliciano's heart beating against his own.

It was a great testament to Ludwig's self control that he pulled back from Feliciano, and steadying his breathe, he looked to the petite Italian who was now gathering a towel from the closet nearby and selecting the clothes he'd wear that day. "Any particular kind of pasta, you vould like mein liebe?" The German asked with the smallest of chuckles, as he made to move toward the living space.

"Veh~ Mio amore, you know me so well; surprise me!" Feliciano grinned before running to stop his love before Ludwig had gotten to the door. The smaller man stood on his tip toes as he reached his arms around his lover's neck again to pull himself up to plant a kiss on his capo's cheek.

Ludwig's Italian love whispered, "Hurry mein liebe, bitte?" against his cheek before settling back on his heels to stand at his natural height; Feliciano rested his head against his German's broad chest for a moment before letting him go.

_Mein Gott, if I do not leave now, I never will! _Ludwig knew he had to leave now, or risk their cover even further. He nodded once to his Feliciano and finally with his hand on the knob, the blonde looked back to his beloved. "I vill hurry und see you soon, Feli." with a last look and a small smile, the capo left, trying to will his mind back to the business at hand.

Now alone, Don Vargas continued to get ready. He'd take a shower, then start the day and make sure all his work was done by noon. The young mafioso sighed thinking of all he had to deal with. There was his brother, who would be coming to him at some time to come up with a new plan, this time the plan had to go perfectly. If Agent Jones had to be taken out of the picture permanently there had to be no trace, no evidence linking them to his disappearance. Then there was the problem of Ludwig's brother...Gilbert had always been a friend, but Feliciano knew it was unlikely their friendship could continue. He intended to keep his promise of course and would never order the hit on his love's brother. The trouble was, that he had no idea what Gilbert now intended to do. If he did stand against them publicly, how would he justify not having the pale German bumped off?

Feliciano sighed again heavily as he started the shower. Then as always these days there was the Byelorussian. Finding out what she was up to was a priority. Arlovskaya had been unusually quiet the past few days, and as much as Feliciano would like to rest and think they had now driven her to reconsider challenging them, he had been raised better than that.

His grandfather's voice came into his head, and the young don repeated the words under his breath that he had memorized, "_Never underestimate your enemies, Feliciano."_

"Veh~" The petite Italian sighed as he stepped into the shower and tried to organize his thoughts. No answers came to him as to how to deal with either of his problems, instead Feliciano put them aside and by the time he was out of the shower, he smiled as he prepared to brush his teeth and dress. The mafioso's thoughts turned instead to the capo who was always working so hard for him.

Moments later, while Feliciano finished buttoning one of his favorite navy blue pants, he was interrupted as he slipped his arms into the accompanying vest. The phone in his office was ringing. The brunette hurried to answer it, and with his blue pinstriped vest half on, he held the phone to his ear, caramel eyes opening wide, listening to the man on the other end.

…...

While the mafioso was on the phone, the BOI agent was stealthily scooting along the back wall of the Gold Star; as the opium dealer walked with the statuesque madame toward the front.

As Alfred edged into the backdoor, he had no idea that he was being watched.

Natalya had lost many, actually most, of her men in the restaurant days ago when she had last faced the Italian and that damn German had once again foiled her plans. Now she was down to two of her original soldiers and a few recruits she'd made since arriving. She watched the back door from an upstairs landing as the agent turned the knob slowly. The Byelorussian smiled in cold satisfaction knowing three of her men stood waiting just on the other side.

…...

On the front stoop, Arthur was reassuring Katyusha that she could stand up to her sister. Even before they had arrived at his place late last night, the madame had been panic stricken as to what her younger sister would do when she couldn't find her. Even now the tall pale haired woman twisted her long coral necklace in her fingers.

"But Arthur," she continued, repeating the argument she had kept up since waking in the doctor's underground den beside him, "You do not understand, moya sestra...she is so very..."

But before she could finish the sentence, Katyusha's blue eyes flew open wide at the sounds of gunshots coming from inside. Before her sister's arrival, shootouts inside the Gold Star had been few and far between; now Katyusha wondered why she continued to jump at each one.

The madame and her British beau both reached for the doorknob first; Arthur stepped quickly in front of Katyusha to chivalrously be the first inside.

…...

Across the lobby, and down the hall the gunshots continued to be fired by each side.

Alfred Jones had opened the door to an ambush; he now crouched behind an overturned side table. The American agent loaded his gun and again took aim at the three men shooting at him.

Squinting over his glasses as he glanced around the table, blue eyes scanned the room. Only two men were accounted for...

"Shit!" The agent ducked back behind the table as a bullet whizzed past his ear. _Where was the third man?_ Alfred shot around the table and noted with some relief the thud that meant he'd made the shot. Glancing around now, he saw one man, currently reloading. The other man was young, even younger than the agent's twenty-one years.

Alfred still didn't know where the third man had gotten too, but he knew he couldn't miss the opportunity to take someone in alive. Information, confessions, these did so much more than dead bodies, and he intended to make sure Natalya Arlovskaya left his country and didn't return.

He stood and pointed his gun at the man, who knelt on the ground frantically reloading. The young Ukrainian dropped his weapon and the ammunition he had been trying to load onto the floor. Throwing his hands in the air he spoke rapidly. "Podazhditye! Ne Stralya'itye!"

Keeping his gun on the man, the agent reached into his jacket for the bureau issued cuffs. "Ok, up against the wall." He motioned with the barrel of his gun as the young man complied.

Alfred stepped over the man he'd shot on his way to the one against the wall. He continued, "Where's your buddy? I know there were three of you guys."

His answer came, not from the unarmed man he'd got against the wall, but from behind as the agent suddenly felt a hard punch to the lower back. Alfred stumbled forward caught off guard, then turned quickly around to face his attacker. _Of course, the missing guy!_ The agent was relieved, because though he had just been punched hard in the spine, he now had all Natalya's lackeys accounted for.

The American agent traded blows with the hardened Byelorussian soldier; he took a fist to the jaw, returning with a sharp uppercut of his own. Alfred lost his wind for a moment as he received a swift knee to the gut, but the former pilot was a lot stronger than his opponent took him to be. While doubled over, he used the butt of his pistol to hammer into the side of the offending knee.

…..

While the agent fought the Byelorussian in the hall, Arthur and Katyusha had rushed into the lobby and toward the source of the gunshots. They both stopped short, recognizing the agent at the end of the hall engaged in close combat with one of Natalya's men.

"Sestra, so good of you to come back." Natalya's voice was silky and light as she descended the stairs calmly, seemingly unconcerned to the fight down the hall.

"Dr. Kirkland." The younger sister nodded curtly to the Brit before glancing to her sister, Natalya's disappointment plain on her face. "of course."

The platinum blonde swung her long hair over a shoulder and giggled girlishly. "It does look like I'm winning, doesn't it?"

Both the madame and the dealer turned their attention from Katyusha's deranged sister to the fight still going on down the hall.

Alfred had been about to straighten; it looked as though he was preparing to aim when the young Ukrainian recruit who had been against the wall, came up behind him to knock the weapon from the agent's hand.

Agent Jones was now fighting both of Natalya's men. Though Alfred staggered, his jaw showing a dark bruise already forming, he was holding his own surprisingly well. Natalya watched, her smile turning to a scowl, as the hated agent took another punch to the gut as well as a blow to the side and still managed to land his own jab to her Byelorussian soldier while simultaneously kicking the Ukrainian recruit in the knees.

Seeing her hardened soldier step back winded and the young Ukrainian man drop to the ground, Natalya's scowl had turned so cold that when she spoke again and her words came out in a low hiss, Katyusha jumped and quelled beneath the look on her younger sister's face.

"Enough of this. You want something done, it must be done yourself." The Byelorussian turned to take hold of the dealer's green velvet jacket unexpectedly.

"Oi! Watch it!" Arthur tried to back away from the crazed Natalya, but she held him in place with her unwounded arm as she searched inside his coat pockets with the other.

Finally smiling, or rather grinning wickedly, something more akin to the expression seen on a hunting wolf than a human woman, Natalya seemed to have found what she sought. Pulling a full syringe of pure morphine from the dealer's coat she giggled again, "Always ready to make the next sell, hmm?" Natalya turned from the narrow-eyed Brit to speak now to her sister, "Maybe he is not worthless after all."

Natalya then spun on her heels and swiftly strolled up behind the American agent, who now had knocked the younger man out. Unaware of the danger behind him, Alfred landed a punch to the Byelorussian man's ribs before taking another hit to jaw.

Just as he pulled back to repay his opponent in kind, Alfred felt a stabbing prick of pain in the soft skin between shoulder and neck. Before he could even take note of the syringe his already numbing fingers were fumbling to take out, the pain of the shot was gone, as was the pain all over from blows he'd received from the fight. That would have been a blessing were it not for the loss of power he felt as well. Slumping to the side as the opioid coursed through his veins he tried to continue fighting only to find he was unable to summon the will to clench his fists.

Aware of the events occurring around him as though through a haze; a fog that seemed to be inside his own brain, Alfred dropped to his knees and felt himself sliding against the wall of the hallway. Seeing his gun within reach, he tried to reach out for it, only to note that his arm wouldn't obey his command. Through the fog, with eyes that seemed to blink inordinately slower than he wanted, Alfred Jones recognized his Vanya's sister as her face swam in front of his vision.

"Wha-tha-fuckdya-wan?" He just managed to slur out before he had inexplicably landed on the floor to the side. Slowly the awareness dawned that the Byeolorussian man he'd been fighting had hit him hard over the head, and what he registered as an odd bouncing fall to the side had probably been much, much harder. However, Alfred had only just come to this awareness and had still not received an answer when the fog took over, the light in the hall giving way to a fuzzy numbing blackness.

The last things he heard, as if from down a long, long tunnel were two sets of rapid footsteps, and a voice he could almost place. "Really! That hit was hardly necessary!"

The American agent was thoroughly out and completely unaware of the half structured sentences coming out of his mouth as he mumbled about coca-cola and wondered why they didn't sell it in Russia while he was dragged down the basement steps.

With pupils dilated so far that his eyes could no longer have been identified as blue, the agent neither saw nor heard his twin as Mathew first gasped, and then rocking the chair he was tied to back and forth, yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Al! Alfred!" The agent's brother yelled to him as loud as possible. His throat was already sore, but he continued to call to his brother as his captors tied the agent up somewhere behind him in the dark of the basement.

To Mathew's mounting panic, his brother gave no response, but for some nonsensical mumbles about what sounded like coca-cola.

"What did you do to him?" the professor continued to struggle against the ropes that bound him to the metal chair. "Alfred! Alfred, are you alright?" Matt yelled over and over until Natalya left his brother and strode back into his line of vision.

"Who left off his gag?" Arlovskaya demanded of her soldier who was just finishing the ropes that would hold the agent to an identical metal folding chair. She fastened the gag back over Matthew's mouth, though he continued to yell to his brother and demand to know what the byelorussian had done to him, his words came out only as angry muffled sounds.

Natalya smiled down at him, the gleam in her eyes victorious as she commanded her lackey to bring the agent to sit in front of his brother. She spoke in mock concern, "But have they not missed each other terribly?" and hummed to herself as the man moved Mathew's brother to sit across from him.

Alfred was slumped forward in his chair, not quite unconcious, but clearly not there either. His glasses askew, the agent blinked slowly in the light above them as Natalya pulled the cord to light only the space where the two men sat facing eachother.

Mathew reeled with inexpressable anger. They had drugged him! They had drugged his brother, who had of course come alone, and now this crazy byelorussian was going to kill them. Well, he wasn't going to just accept that and wait for death to come. The professor leaned as far forward as the ropes across his chest would let him as he peered into his twin's eyes.

As Alfred continued to mumble in slurred phrases, Mathew closed his eyes and inwardly sighed. _Maple...just how were they going to get out of this?_

The scholarly brother wasn't used to worrying about Alfred, he'd been the one to go into direct combat, then after the war, had gone to work for the bureau, Alfred was the one trained to handle these kinds of situations and here was his brave and reckless brother across from him, beaten and drugged.

Mathew continued to try to rouse Alfred from the drug induced stupor with muffled words and well aimed kicks to his toes, as, if Matt aimed it just right, he could reach his brother's foot with one of his just barely. Nothing was working however, as Alfred continued to slump in his chair, pupils as large as can be.

Natalya was looking closely at the agent as well. Suddenly she called loudly upstairs. "Katyusha!" She called for her sister to bring...was it a doctor? why would she have said that, Mathew wondered. If she was going to kill them anyway, why waste money on a doctor's visit?

Only a moment later, the tall older sister returned, opening the door with trepidation, she stepped off the last stair into the basement and stood with a horrified expression, beside the door as a shorter blonde man in a green velvet suit, holding an old black leather medicine bag joined her.

Though his vision was blurry without his glasses, Matthew recognized something about the man. What it was he couldn't place, until Natalya shared a worry about her captive.

"I want Jones's death to be special, I have other plans for him," she spoke icily to the shorter blonde man. "Check him, Kirkland! Will that dosage kill him before I have a chance?"

_Kirkland! That was why he seemed familiar! _But Matt hadn't seen his brother's old friend in years. Al had of course told his brother why he and the british doctor had had a falling out, but surely it couldn't have been so bad that Arthur would want his brother dead!

Mathew turned his attention now to the man he knew would recognize him.

The Canadian's muffled yells appeared to be ignored as Arthur stepped close. The Brit purposefully kept his face turned away from Mathew while he checked Alfred's vital signs.

Arthur muttered beneath his breathe that in his opinion, the agent would be just ducky after he came down a bit over the next few hours, possibly as late as the evening.

It wasn't only Matt's face that the British doctor wouldn't meet, but his impromptu patient's as well. It didn't matter that Alfred couldn't really see him at the moment, Arthur simply couldn't bring himself to look his former friend in the eyes. The dealer looked decidedly at the wall as he checked the agent's pulse.

Now satisfied, Natalya dismissed Kirkland and her sister. The brit turned back toward his girl who was already taking the stairs up, but before he had joined Katyusha, the younger sister called him back again. "Oh, my apology. You want payment for this, da?"

While the young professor's muffled yells sounded again, and the dealer's face paled considerably, she pulled the agent's wallet from his coat. Flicking through the cash Alfred had on him she mused, "Hmm, not much...but will $20, as you say, do the trick?"

To the nearly negligible amount of credit Mathew could give him, Arthur backed up the stairs. "Don't bleeding worry about it." The green-eyed man raised his hands as he backed out of the basement, "I'm easy."

Now alone again with only the deranged younger sister, her muscle, and his doped up brother, Mathew sat perfectly still and waited for the Byelorussian to speak. Natalya was looking Alfred up and down as if appraising him.

"I do not see what is so great about you, Agent Jones." She spoke low, a near whisper. Her heels clicked as she walked a circle around the brothers. Finally she came to a stop in front of Mathew.

"You see?" She smiled sweetly, which had the look of poison on her cool face. "You see now, how misplaced was your faith? Your precious brother came alone, just as I knew he would. Because I told him too." The Byelorussian reached out to pinch the Canadian's cheek. "He didn't want anything to happen to his brother, did he?" She laughed, throwing her pale hair back.

Leaving Mathew with the cold pit of despair growing in his stomach, She turned to follow the Byelorussian man up the stairs. Barely concealing her smile beneath an expression of mock apology, she turned back at the stairs to face her captives again.

"You see I know what I am doing here. Your brother rushed to your rescue alone. Your lover will not find you." She shrugged and pouted her lips, while her eyes twinkled in mirth. "It is sad." She continued, "But who could he go to? The police? Nyet. His friends in the mafia? Ah, in your case, nyet."

Natalya laughed fully now, her accent rich in her bubbling happiness, as she turned back to the stairs and continued her ascent. "You have nobody!"

Sighing deeply, Mathew turned his attention back to his brother. "Alfred..." The professor sighed knowing the word came out all muffled as the Byelorussian had completely covered his mouth this time.

To his shock, his brother looked up. With a slight grin on his bruised and bemused face, the agent blinked slowly and slurred, "Maddy? Wha- ya soun-ah-fuzzy..." Before Alfred's head lolled once more toward his chest and Mathew heard his brother's breathing slow to the pace of deep sleep.

The Canadian professor leaned his head back against his chair and looked up into the ceiling above. He could hear footsteps over them and the sound of the sisters speaking in Russian. He prayed Natalya wasn't right.

…...

Nearly noon.

While the two brothers were held below the Gold Star the hours had ticked by and across town, the capo was just making his way up the private stair that led to the don's floor at the top of the high rise complex. Ludwig had been able to convince the witnesses that they really hadn't seen anything afterall, but he had not been so fortunate with his brother. Gilbert hadn't been home or at the Roost.

In fact, their place looked as though his older brother hadn't been back since running out the day before. The tall blonde frowned as he climbed the stairs. He knew Gilbert was staying at the agent's place. He just knew it. It was possible that his brother simply needed time to calm down and give up on the Canadian. _Of course, _Ludwig thought as he rounded a landing, _If he really does love him..._The younger brother knew he'd never give up on Feliciano, and were his love ever taken down by rivals...

Ludwig's blood went hot at the very thought and he knew he'd not rest until he'd gotten him back, and if... The capo couldn't even complete the inner narrative. He remembered well the way he had felt when he thought he would lose Feliciano to that Lithuanian's bullet.

Had his Feli died that night...

Ludwig stopped on the staircase and breathed the rest of the thought aloud. "I vould have killed all of them." Sighing as his thoughts weighed heavily on him, the blonde capo continued to ascend the stairs. He knew his brother would react the same way. Hopefully, Feliciano had heard something about who had the Canadian. If they could get him back in their hands, the mafia would still have the upper hand over the agent and as soon as Jones gave in, they could hand his brother over with minimal injuries...of course, if they didn't get him back, it was out of their hands...

As Ludwig arrived on the top landing, he took a moment to clear his thoughts. The devoted capo knew his love had undoubtedly already had a full day of being the boss. Though it was difficult for him to suppress his worries and the innate drive to keep focused until all had been taken care of, the German knew that his Italian love would want at least an hour of carefree peace away from the work that needed done.

The tall man rolled his broad shoulders to relax them from the stress he carried. In one hand Ludwig held the take out box of fettuccine; his other was in his pocket with the Christmas gift he had picked up while out. Somehow, he would have to keep his affectionate lover from reaching into his pockets as he had that morning.

As Ludwig's fingers tapped the small box in his hand, he concentrated not on work, but on his Feliciano, and why he loved him. The German had picked up much knowledge of Italian culture and customs in the years he'd been working in the mafia... culturally significant tokens of love had not been one. He had had to make up an elaborate lie to the girl at the counter as to why he was looking for such a thing.

In the end, she had believed the lie about running an errand for his sister who was looking for a good gift for her Italian fiance. Ludwig only hoped that if this salesgirl ever came to Feliciano for a loan or a favor and noticed the mafioso wearing his gift, she'd have more sense than to say anything.

The glass cufflinks didn't make a sound in their velvet box as Ludwig left the stairwell and made his way toward the door. The German smiled a bit at the gift he'd bought. As the Murano glass cufflinks were custom made, no two were alike so a man who had everything would not have this. Of course, the little squares of hand blown amber glass with strips and tiny fleks of gold trapped inside would adorn his love's wrists handsomely.

Now blushing slightly at the parallel of the warmth of the glittering cufflinks to Feli's warm caramel eyes, the tall blonde, knocked first, then turned the knob.

"Ludwig!" the mafioso was immediately in his capo's arms. "How was your day? Did everything work out?" The petite Italian looked up from his man's chest.

Still holding the box of pasta, Ludwig wrapped Feliciano in his other arm. "Hallo, Feli." The tall man closed the door behind him with his foot and kissed his shorter love on the top of the head. "All good. No one vill talk at the trial." Ludwig moved forward, as Feliciano stepped backward, still holding on to him. "You are hungry, I assume? I brought fettuccine mit a few different sauces on the side..."

"Mmm, choices!" the mafioso let go of his German love and spoke as he opened a cabinet beside the sofa to pull out a bottle of wine. "What kinds?" The petite man's grin was infectious and Ludwig felt his own slight smile growing as he answered. "olive oil vith clam, tomato vith meat, und alfredo."

"Alfredo!" Feliciano declared before retrieving the corresponding wine happily. "White it is!"

As the mafioso poured his glass, and offered his love a choice of beer or a glass of wine, Ludwig sat their lunch down on the table. "Und how vas your day so far, Feli? Any vord on the agent's brother?"

The brunette looked up and shook his head. "Veh~ No." Suddenly brightening, Feliciano continued, "But I did get a call from our man in the BOI." He joined his capo at the table and sat down their drinks as Ludwig made up two plates of pasta. "Apparently," The Italian smiled happily as he sat down to eat, "Agent Jones ran out of the office frantically early this morning and hasn't been seen since."

The capo lowered the bier he'd been about to drink. "Really?" The German's brow furrowed slightly. "Do you think Romano...?"

Feliciano shook his head. "No, I don't think so; he called me earlier as well to say he would come by later tonight before he and Kiku go to some new club..." The petite mafioso shrugged. "Veh, I am not his only enemy, maybe that Cuban has some relatives who would like to see Jones pay for putting him away."

"Mm..True." Ludwig agreed as he finished the drink he'd started earlier. He hoped that was the case. If Jones was taken out, and his brother abducted by someone else, then hopefully Gilbert would eventually be able to see that if all had gone according to Feli's family's interests things would have turned out for the better...it would surely take a long time, but if neither he nor Feliciano were directly involved, maybe things could return to normal between them...

….

While the mafioso and his capo were enjoying lunch, across town, and a few stories below the city the British dealer had been pacing his office. Emerald eyes staring at the phone atop his desk.

Even before he left the Gold Star, Arthur knew he should call Vargas. That was the deal. This was the reason he'd been sent to hang around Katyusha's business in the first place. Still the guilt pained him deep in his stomach. He had thought he could avoid any actual contact with his old friend...and then there was the fact that regardless of how Arthur could rationalize Alfred's fate as this was the line of work he'd chosen, and the british dealer could just barely do that...but Al's brother really was innocent. He had nothing to do with this life, and no matter how the Brit had been able to distract himself last night, the guilt at doing nothing was back in full force now.

Arthur wasn't heartless; it hadn't been the paycheck alone that had gotten him into medicine in his youth. However, those years of youthful optimism were long gone. Gone to the experience of war and the lure of a fast fortune once the pain killer morphine, its cousin heroin, and pick-me-up cocaine were made illegal.

No, he exhaled slowly, this was a different decade, and he a different man. He'd made a deal with Don Vargas; in exchange for precisely this sort of information he had access to sell in Little Italy and all the areas held by the family. In the short time since making the deal, Dr. Kirkland had already seen a considerable rise in profits.

Vargas would find out sooner or later anyway, and when he did, if Arthur hadn't shared his knowledge he would lose everything. The new turf, his business, he had even possibly put Kat in danger as well once it was clear he fancied her.

Hating himself for it, the dealer closed his eyes beneath prominent brows gone flat and expressionless as the decision was made. Opening them again, Arthur reached for the phone and dialed the mafia.

…...

Feliciano was just twirling a forkful of fettuccine when the ringing of the phone interrupted him.

"Veh~" He sighed, looking across at his capo. "I told them to not let any calls interrupt my lunch."

Putting down his own fork, Ludwig's blue eyes glanced toward his love's office. "It must be important then, Feli." He began to stand just as the petite Italian jumped up. "Veh! You're right!"

It took neither man long to cross the space to the mafioso's office; Ludwig was just walking through the doorway as Feliciano answered the phone.

"Si?"

Ludwig watched with a smile as his petite love transitioned from the carefree pasta loving Feli that few knew to the all business mafioso whose baby-face and soft voice did nothing to diminish the intimidation of his name. The German capo knew it took a lot out of his love to be the boss, but it was none the less impressive how he was able to switch fluidly from one persona to the other.

At the moment, the petite mafioso was leaning into his desk, grinning fully as he listened to the other man on the phone.

"The Byelorussian? But they were working together..." Feliciano spoke into the phone and then held it out away from his ear as Arthur's voice came through loudly.

"Well I don't know do I?" The Brit was clearly in a foul mood. "Look, I'm just doing my bit, Alright?"

Feliciano made a face at the piece held out from his ear before speaking into the other end. "Si, good. Grazie Dr. Kirkland." he continued before hanging up, "I look forward to our business in the future."

No sooner had he hung up the phone than the mafioso turned to his beloved capo with a easy grin and an obvious lightness to his countenance as though a weight had literally been lifted.

The Italian reached to take the German's hand and pulled his taller love toward him, as he leaned against the polished desk. "Ludwig! What luck," Feliciano went on, "The Byelorussian was the woman! She has _both _the agent's brother and agent Jones himself in the basement of the Gold Star!" The slight man wrapped his arms around his German's waist as he leaned into his capo's strong chest.

"She'll kill them and the BOI will be on her, not us. Arlovskaya can handle our dirty work for us and then we can let the cops take her out of the way!"

Ludwig returned his love's grin with a smile of his own. "This is good news Feli!" The tall blonde lifted his petite brunette in a victorious embrace. Before Feliciano slid back to his own height, he pressed his lips against Ludwig's happily.

The capo returned his boss's kiss with passion, tasting the wine the smaller man had been drinking as his tongue passed soft lips.

After the two men broke for air and the boss slid down his capo's chest to land his feet on the floor, Feliciano smiled again, "Veh~ mio amore, I feel like celebrating!"

The petite Italian let go of the tall German long enough to run into the living room, turn the dial on the radio and get the glass of wine from the dining table.

As Ludwig entered the main room to the sounds of Ruth Etting's popular song 'Deed I do' already in progress, Feliciano had just sat down his wine glass on the side table and reached out to grasp his love again by the hand. "Il mio amore, lets dance!"

The German's face colored instantly. He was a soldier; he was a man of action, he,... he hadn't danced since his older brother insisted he learn...that had been a long time ago, long before he met his smiling Italian. Ludwig certainly didn't know any of the new dances that had swept social halls and clubs recently.

"Feliciano, I do not dance. Vhen have you seen me dance?" The blonde didn't think he could blush more, as his expressive brunette was already swaying to the rhythm, pulling his reluctant dance partner along with him by the hands.

"Come on Ludwig, everyone can dance!" Feliciano smiled at his German love's hesitation. Wrapping his arms up around his tall capo's neck, the petite mafioso sang along with the words coming from the radio.

"...I confess, Do I,

want you?

Oh my do I!

Honey, 'deed I do!

Do I need you?

Oh my do I,

Honey, 'deed I do!"

If anyone could get the stoic German to dance it was Feliciano. Though his face was still hot and flushed in embarrassment, Ludwig wrapped an arm around his partner's slender waist. "I do not know any new ones..." The serious man almost choked; he really could not say no to his Feli; this was dangerous. _Mein Gott._ Ludwig thought to himself as he went on, taking his love's smaller hand in his own; He had it bad. "Do you remember the Castle walk?"

Ludwig hoped he did himself as Feliciano nodded energeticaly.

Taking a deep breathe, the capo began the jaunty step forward, leading his boss and lover toward the large windows without fear of being seen at their height. He spun Feli in front of the window in the bright mid-day sun before moving back in toward the room.

_~You're the only one who ever could stand the test,_

_that's the reason why I choose you from the rest,_

_You're the best.~_

The jazzy lyrics flowed through them as they moved and slowly the tall blonde began to lose his embarrassment. The way the slender brunette lit up radiantly as the couple stepped high in sync before the larger man lifted him against his chest not once, but several times, may have had something to do with Ludwig's growing ease.

_~Do I love you?_

_Oh my, do I!_

_Honey, 'deed I do!~_

As the song ended and the next began, Ludwig lowered Feliciano to the ground slowly, cupping the Italian's chin in his hand, the tall German brought his love in close.

While the mafioso and his capo were lost in eachother's kiss, the Italian sighed happily and ran his hands down from playing with the buttons of his broad man's shirt to slip them into the pockets of Ludwig's slacks, bringing their bodies closer together.

Feliciano's fingers brushed a soft square box.

"Hm?" he pulled the velvet box from his love's pocket as they broke the kiss suddenly.

Ludwig gasped and just managed to take the box from his Italian's hand before Feliciano had opened it. "I'm sorry Feli, you can not open that yet!"

"Yet?" The petite mafioso smiled again and raised his eyebrows, bright caramel eyes opening fully.

"Ja," The once again blushing capo stowed the box back into his pocket, looking away. "Not until Christmas."

The slight brunette bounced with excitement. This day was going fantastically! Already it looked like their enemies were taking care of eachother for them, he'd simply have Romano keep an eye out to update him on what happened; His strong, hard-working man had seen to it that the witnesses wouldn't talk against his family in the upcoming trial, and he now had his Ludwig here with delicious pasta and a mysterious present! How could he wait four days for it?

"Oh a present! Grazie, mio amore; I know I'll love it!" Feliciano took his love by the hand again and pulled him toward the sofa. The mafioso hopped into his capo's lap as soon as Ludwig had sat down. "I think you'll like yours too; its useful and I know how you like things to be useful!"

The slender Italian ran both hands through his blonde man's hair, mussing it up happily. Feliciano sighed into Ludwig's kiss and leaned in close at the feel of his capo's strong arms encircling him tightly.

All Ludwig's worries about his brother and what he was up to disappeared into the beating of his heart, the sound of his Feliciano sighing as their lips met, and the feeling of holding his love so close as the radio continued to play, it seemed, just for them.

_~..and if you were in jail,_

_baby, I'd sell my soul_

_to make your bail,_

_my slow and easy man~_

…...

Early Afternoon.

If the day was going well for the mobsters, it was very much the opposite for the capo's brother and the Bolshevik soldier as Ivan paced and Gilbert sat at the table tapping his foot restlessly. The two men had been waiting sleeplessly for some word from Alfred at the bureau; until they could hear from him, they were as two caged lions itching to be set loose.

Without warning, the pale German stood from the table, still tapping his foot nervously "Scheiße! I can't stand the waiting; I'll call the bureau and ask for him." Gilbert moved rapidly toward the phone on the wall between the kitchen and living room.

The other man stopped his pacing, turning quickly, violet eyes weary. "Nyet." Ivan strode to the phone as well. "Have you ever called the Bureau of Investigation?"

The albino shook his head, but tensions had been high between the two men since Alfred had left. Neither was used to inaction. Gilbert lifted the receiver from its post. "Nien, but I know how to use a telephone."

From the other side of the phone the taller Russian looked down seriously into the German's crimson eyes. "Da, but how would it seem, that _you_ call and ask for the agent investigating your brother?" Ivan held the other end of the phone as he continued. "Particularly bad idea with corrupt agents working for Vargas, da?"

As Gilbert had no response, Ivan went on. He had been considering calling in himself for some time as he paced. The day had proceeded past noon, and something told him he definitely would have heard from his American love by now. "Nyet. I will call him."

"Ah..." The capo's brother nodded. " I see vhat you mean...but Ivan, I may have just met you, but you already have trouble with these Cheka." The German rubbed tired eyes; his accent becoming more apparent in his exhaustion. "You do not vant to arouse the suspicion of the BOI as vell."

The tall Russian considered the pale man's words, and then shook his head. "Da...but it is still less suspicious for me than for you. I have cover; Alfred had clearance to come to Russia to ask my help." Ivan continued, violet eyes narrowed, "A man of your occupation and family connection; you will be much more suspect."

Gilbert finally gave up and running his hands through pale white hair in frustration, he sat miserably once again at the kitchen table. "Ja, you're right."

As Gilbert sat at the table, hands in his hair, staring at the tiny chick across from him, Ivan had dialed the operator and asked to be transferred to the Bureau's local office, Agent Jones' extension.

The Russian turned violet eyes on the German as Gilbird hopped across the table to settle in the pale man's now outstretched hand. "It is ringing."

Gil looked up and waited as Ivan continued to stand there silently. He waited…and waited…as the Russian's expression darkened ominously. Ivan twisted the cord around his finger impatiently, and a low chanting began to come from deep in his throat.

Suddenly the chanting stopped and the violet eyed man dropped the cord. As clearly as possible and trying to calm his mounting concern at the fact that there had been no answer in his Americanski's office, Ivan spoke to the receptionist to which the unanswered call had transferred. "I am trying to reach Agent Alfred Jones."

As Gilbert looked on from the table, the other man's grip on the phone tightened. Ivan uttered a single word, icily into the phone. "What?"

Clearly the answer he received was less than acceptable, as violet eyes narrowed to slits. "What do you mean?" Ivan nearly growled into the phone before yelling loud enough to reach Alfred's neighbors. "I KNOW HE EXISTS, YEBLIA!"

The German stood from his chair as the Russian punched a fist into the wall and slammed the phone down on the hook.

Ivan turned from the wall rubbing his fist, small smile held in place to cover his concern. "Ah...that did not go so well..."

Gil moved closer, inspecting the damage Ivan had done to the wall. Red eyes wide, the German turned to the Russian as the larger man began to pace again, his anger clearly equaling his concern at not reaching his American love. "Um, Ja.." Gil began as Gilbird cheeped from his shoulder, "'Didn't sound like it. What the fuck did they say?"

"Nothing!" Ivan turned as he paced. "They said they could neither confirm nor deny his existence!" The Russian soldier seemed to radiate an aura of darkness befitting his mood as he whispered, "He should have been in his office..."

Gilbert bit his lip as Ivan continued his pacing. "Gott verdammt, If he didn't make it in..." The words _we're screwed_ stopped on the tip of his tongue. Realizing exactly what it would mean if Alfred had never made it in, the pale man turned sympathetic eyes on the pacing Russian. "I...I'm sure he's fine." Gil started, hoping the words were true. "He's a soldier, a government agent.." Thinking suddenly of his quiet, studious professor, the German's heart clinched painfully in panic even as he finished the sentence. "he, he's trained to handle anything."

Ivan stopped short in his steps, twisting the scarf absentmindedly, the Bolshevik soldier's voice came out quiet and wavered more than the German bartender would have expected the other would sound. "He would have called. He would have called as soon as he found something..." Ivan turned toward Gilbert with a sigh. "the Cheka..." his shoulders slumped, "but they are soldiers as well."

The pale German continued leaning back against the table. "But if it is the Cheka they won't kill him...they'll hold him to try to get to you which means we would have time. We could find out where they are holding him. Maybe find out if they were involved in Matthew's..." He choked on the words, "Matthew's abduction."

Ivan looked to the man leaning back against the table. " Gilbert, I can think of no one else who would be responsible for their abductions..." The Russian thought of what the cheka would do to Alfred's brother if they had picked him up by mistake and actually hoped for the alternative. "If it is not the mafia?"

"it...I guess it could be one of the other families, but it's not likely..." Gilbert looked toward the window as he continued. "Besides they want him out of town but they don't want to deal with the murder of a top federal agent, so on the off chance that it is the mafia we still have time." The pale German's hands had been in fists at his side, which he now brought up to his hair, pulling on thick white locks, "Gott Verdammt! No one wants to kill Jones. The Cheka will hold him. The Mafia will try to persuade him to leave..." his voice hoarse, Gilbert went on, "but Matthew..."

Ivan stood silent for a moment before walking to stand next to the man who had become sort of a friend over the night they had stayed awake waiting. The Russian's stomach was in knots at the thought of what he knew the cheka did to their prisoners. The thought that his strong pilot would none the less have been out numbered and subjected to...but he didn't want to think of it. The truth was that Gilbert was right. If it was as he feared and the cheka had taken Mathew mistaking him for his twin, the young professor would have been expendable and disposed of by the time they got their target.

But seeing the other man beside him so near to breaking down, Ivan couldn't bring himself to tell him. Instead he asked, "Do you know much about the cheka opperatives?"

His companion dropped his hands from his hair and starring despondently at the floor, shook his head.

Inwardly hating himself for lying, but unable to bring himself to tell Gilbert that they would kill anyone expendable, Ivan stared at the hallway across from them as he spoke. "They will keep Mathew alive to make sure Alfred does not try to escape." It was a possibility, however unlikely. "I am sure he is still alive."

Violet eyes met crimson as the German had looked up while the Russian spoke. Ivan continued, hoping his lie turned out to be the truth."They will send a letter for me, and after I turn myself over they will let Alfred and Mathew go."

The pale man was skeptical, just by virtue of living the last three years surrounded by mobsters, but he did desperately want to believe the words the Russian spoke and so decided not to question Ivan's reassurances. Instead Gilbert addressed the last sentence his new friend had said. "After you turn yourself over?" He shook his head. "You can't do that! You can't just sacrifice yourself that way." Raking a hand through his hair, Gilbert went on, stepping away from the table and walking toward the hallway, " If they're sending you a letter we can get an address from it." He turned and walked back toward Ivan. "We'll go in guns blazing. We could save Alfred and Matthew but once they have you it would be impossible to get you back."

ivan stared down at the scarf between his fingers. His voice was as despairingly blank as when he'd gotten the summons. "If we succeed, they will only send more. Every day I stay here I put Alfred in danger...and of course his twin." Meeting his new friend's incredulous crimson eyes again, Ivan shook his head. "No. I can not run forever. I was a fool to think I could. I don't expect you to understand."

The German bartender folded his arms and continued to argue. "Jones is a federal agent, he must have some way to protect you. Even if the two of you had to relocate."

Standing still was becoming harder and harder. Ivan moved passed the man in front of him as he resumed his pacing. "And if that were true, what of you? what of Mathew?" He stopped to look out the window, hoping to see figures approaching, "The cheka will go after the loved ones first." The tall Russian thought of his sisters and frowned, leaning on the sill.

Ivan's violet eyes looked out at the cold December day. Snow was just beginning to fall. The experienced Bolshevik soldier had known many to disappear at the hands of the cheka. His broad shoulders slumped despondently as he thought about his love. Closing his eyes on the unforgiving world outside, Ivan whispered, "Mo'ee Amerikanski..."

Behind him, Gilbert was still arguing, grasping desperately at possibilities. "We could go to Canada. Surely they wouldn't follow us there. You can't just give up." The doubt in his own words showed through the pale man's voice. "Nothing is...nothing is hopeless."

Ivan opened his eyes again and nearly expressed the bitter laugh that had found a home in his throat. "Nothing is hopeless? Hold on to that if you can." Remembering how long the other man had said he'd been in business in Chicago, Ivan didn't voice the cruel thought that had come to mind. _If you had stayed at home after the war, as I returned to mine, you would not think this way. _Instead, he straightened and turned from the window to face his German friend. "Gilbert, is Canada so much further when they have already come to America? Nyet."

The broad Russian shook his head. "The cheka do not give up. To turn myself over is the best choice. Four men on the run until one day we can run no more or three who are free?" Ivan mentally prepared himself for the next words as though at a battle once more and facing his death as he had everyday for years during the Great War and the revolution that followed. "The penalty for treason is...quick." Small smile back in place, he faced his new friend seriously. "So there is no reason to worry, da?"

Ivan knew he had won the argument when Gilbert dropped his gaze. "It's your life and your choice but you can always change your mind. We'll think of something."

"I only hope we hear from them soon." Ivan stated blankly as he resumed pacing. As his feet carried him across the livingroom, where evidence of his Americanski was everywhere; in the photos of Alfred and his brother on the side table, to the tie draped loosely over the end of the sofa, the Russian's voice cracked with unexpressed despair. "I can not handle the wait." he added under his breathe, "not knowing..."

Leaning restlessly on the hallway's doorframe, Gilbert tore his eyes away from those very photos so near to where he stood. "It's killing me too." The pale man cringed physically at his word choice and then sighed at the knowledge that there was nothing to be done but wait. "There is nothing we can do until we have more information."

Gilbert stood there in the doorway for a time watching Ivan's restless movements across the room. Finally unable to take standing there anymore, he ran his hands through his hair and across his tired face. Neither man had slept at all after Alfred had taken off for the bureau; hadn't eaten, nor even left the main area of the house.

"I, um.." The German began, "I'm going to wash my face." It wouldn't bring him any closer to knowing what was going on, no closer to finding the man he'd fallen for and lost immediately, but a fresher face might clear his thoughts and at any rate, Gilbert knew he'd go crazy if he stood still any longer.

Maybe it had been a bad idea. After drying his face, he was confronted by a pair of toothbrushes, standing beside the sink like ghostly reminders of the missing men who used them. Feeling his hold on his emotions fragile, Gilbert left the bathroom quickly. As he closed the door, he noticed the agent's bedroom door wide open. He reached to close it, thinking of Ivan and how he would react to being confronted with the view of the unmade bed, just as it had been left.

Turning from Alfred's bedroom, he noticed a sliver of light coming from the crack in the barely open door across the hall. The guestroom the agent often forgot he had; the room Matt stayed in each time he visited. Knowing full well that he would regret opening the door, that it would do him no good whatsoever, Gilbert moved across the hall as if in a dream.

As soon as he had pushed the door the smallest bit, it swung open. The cool, bright light streamed in from the window as the snow collected in the frost outside lit the room. Heartbeat racing as he stepped in, the pale German's eyes went directly to the stuffed polar bear sitting on the perfectly made bed.

Suddenly feeling as alone and hopeless as he hadn't felt in a very long time, Gilbert found himself sitting on the bed, his beloved Canadian's bear in his arms, and no memory of deciding to cross the space to the bed, sit, or take hold of Mathew's childhood toy.

The pale man didn't handle uncertainty and loss well; it was one reason he never really got close to anyone. Sure, he had friends, but he never had those friends who were so close they could be considered family. Sure, he had had lovers, but had never let himself fall in love.

The playboy bartender had only shared his heart with the little brother he had raised since they had become eachother's only family as children. His little brother Ludwig, who was not so little anymore; in with the mafia...inextricably in with the mafia. The organization Gilbert had given so much leeway as Feliciano had saved his brother from certain death in the Italian prison during the war. This _family_ whom he had extended sanctuary in his club; they were responsible for the loss of the only other human being he really cared about in the world.

No matter that someone had taken Mathew from them, he knew had this other woman not been successful, his brother's friends would still have his sweet, innocent, Canadian man, his Mathew with his sweetly whispered German words, his impressive knowledge, and surprising aggression.

Feeling the lump in his throat and trying to contain the tears that wanted to spill from his eyes, Gilbert hugged the bear close to his chest, uncaring that to some, a grown man holding onto a stuffed bear for dear life might look silly. Red eyes watery, the German gasped back his fears, held in the sobs that wanted to come with short breathes and a whispered desperate prayer.

As his little yellow chick flew from Gil's shoulder to land beside him on the bed, the words came fast, stumbling over his tongue. "Bitte Gott, lass ihn leben. Ich würde alles geben für das Wissen, dass er am Leben ist. Mein Gott, lass mich an seine Stelle treten!"

As the German prayed with intensity he hadn't felt since that November three years ago, Gilbert didn't register the loud thud as his new soviet friend hit the table with his fist before closing his violet eyes and casting all hope to the heavens himself in a way no longer allowed at home in the new regime.

As the Russian and the German, dissatisfied with the little they knew, and knowing they could not act until they knew more, prayed and then tried to pass the time with small talk and no mention of their desperation, each moment hoping to hear from the ones who had abducted their men, the two brothers in question were still held below the floors of the Gold Star.

…...

Just after 8:00 in the evening. The basement of the Gold Star.

As the time passed and the sun dipped below the horizon as Ivan waited to give himself over to the cheka he was sure were responsible for Alfred's disappearance, his youngest sister was humming softly to herself as she dangled a knife in front of her brother's sweetheart's face.

"What the hell is wrong with you, you loony broad?" Agent Jones felt like he had been asking this all evening, ever since he woke up in the dank basement across from his brother. He and Matt had been left alone most of the day, for the majority of that time Mathew had been the only one conscious.

The young professor had eventually stopped trying to wake his brother and instead had waited, losing track of the time in the windowless basement until his twin finally stirred about, what Matt could guess had maybe been an hour ago, maybe only fifteen minutes...

As Alfred hadn't been gagged, no doubt Mathew thought, as an alarm for the Byelorussian woman above, he had at first groggily registered that he had found the brother he'd been looking for, then slowly it began to dawn on Alfred that they were both tied to chairs and Matt couldn't talk to him due to the gag over his mouth. As soon as his faculties had returned, the agent had fought against his bonds, and unable to understand his brother's muffled warnings of "She wants to kill you!", Alfred began to yell up at his beau's crazy sister.

It hadn't been much longer before she had come, practically skipping in glee down the basement stairs with her usual knives held in one hand, twirling Alfred's gun in the other.

And now, here they were.

Natalya Arlovskaya had been tormenting each brother, first pointing out the thin cut along Mathew's cheek as pleasantly as if she had been describing a new hair ribbon, then threatening to add to it, she had goaded her nemesis until Alfred had struggled against the ropes holding him so much he had overturned the chair. Giggling, she had shown surprising strength and righted the chair with him in it to now turn her attentions to the brother she had had the longest as she waved the blade in front of the agent, and lamented that they looked less alike now.

"Ah, but now you do not match, do you my pretty boys? Grabbing hold of Alfred's hair from behind she pulled his head back even as he yelled at her. Natalya's silvery blonde hair fell over the agent's shoulder as she tapped his bruised jaw with the flat of her knife. "We'll need to fix that won't we?" She cooed over the agent's involuntary hiss of pain. "A cut for you Jones, and a nice bruise for your brother?"

She laughed fully then and flicked him once more with the knife before striding to stand between the two brothers, now just out of reach of one another. She hummed to herself again. "Now what should I do next...now that I have you away from my sweet big brother."

As Natalya moved to pull a folding card table from a corner of the room to stand between them, both brothers yelled; Alfred continuing his stream of "What the hell do you want? You psychotic dame!" As his brother tried to communicate the uselessness of arguing with her, Mathew's words muffled by the gag Natalya seemed determined to leave in place this time.

Without answering his brother, the Byeolrussian instead turned to Mathew and leaving his upper arm secured, she freed his forearm to rest it on the table in between them.

At the moment he first felt the small bit of freedom, the Canadian brother made a fist and though his range was impeded by the rest of his arm still being tied to the chair, he none the less swiped it toward her in an attempt at fighting back.

"Attaboy Mattie! Don't give in to this crazy jane!" Alfred whooped from across the table.

Undeterred in the slightest, Natalya turned and called up the stairs to her Byelorussian muscle Of course, she didn't have to wait long and two men had joined her in the basement. The deceptively dainty woman instructed one of the men to hold Mathew's arm to the table.

Sweeping her hair back over her shoulder, Natalya stepped up once again and with the knife still in hand she smiled sweetly at the agent before stabbing downward into the table between each of his brother's fingers.

Tearing his eyes away from Matt's hand, Alfred saw his brother's eyes closed tight as his outstretched fingers twitched nervously. The agent wasn't even aware of all that he yelled at Ivan's sister as she continued, occasionally getting far too close to slicing Mathew's fingers.

Finally Alfred was able to draw in a breathe, his brother slumped forward against his ropes in relief as Arlovskaya released his hand.

"That was fun, my boys, nyet?" She laughed softly again, and the sound grated on Alfred's nerves and sent his spine to tingling with apprehension.

"But...I think I can have more fun with you...da, the night is so young." Natalya smiled, her grin dripping in malice as she reached into the pocket of her drop waisted blue and white stripped skirt.

Alfred's heart stopped as she pulled out his gun. "What are you doin'?" His words ran out all together as she twirled it, continuing to smile.

Her cool smile still in place, Natalya raised the pistol, cocked it, and then, finally her smile dropped as she looked toward the hated agent but aimed at his brother without another word.

"Woah, woah,!" Alfred cried as his twin closed his eyes. "C'mon now, its me you want, right?

Relishing the power she held as she stepped closer to the Canadian brother, Natalya continued to have eyes only for the man who, in her mind, took her dear Vanya from her, as she spoke icily. "Da...and I will have you still. I will have you all to myself won't I Jones? Why do I need to keep your brother around? He has already fulfilled his purpose in bringing you to me." She now stood next to Mathew, the cool steel of Alfred's pistol against his brother's temple.

Seeing his brother's blue violet eyes flash open wide as the gun clicked, the chamber rotating, ready for the byelorussian's finger to pull the trigger, Alfred lost it.

"No! C'mon, It's me, It's me you hate, point that over here!" The hardened agent, the experienced soldier, wasn't prepared to see his brother in danger because of him, about to have his head blown off because some crazy dame had it out for him.

"Oh? Should I point this at you?" Natalya asked as she kept the barrel against Mathew's temple. "But then I wouldn't get to have as much fun." She pouted and ran her dainty fingers through Matt's hair. The byelorussian woman jabbed the barrel into the soft skin of her captive's temple as she giggled at the man who flinched at her mercy. Keeping steely blue eyes on the agent who was continuing to plead with her, Arlovskaya spoke again. "I'm going to kill your brother Agent Jones. Don't you have anything you want to say to him?"

_Oh my God, She's really serious._ Alfred thought as he stopped struggling against his bonds; looking from Natalya's cold hard eyes to Matthew's wide watery ones, the agent nearly sobbed. "Oh, Mattie, I'm so sorry I got you all mixed up in this! I'm sorry!" Then snapping his attention back to the giggling captor, he pleaded, "Come on, not my brother! Not Matt - I'll do anything you want! Anything, just name it! Just don't shoot him, shoot me instead, Please, please, just let my brother go!"

Natalya's grin faded, but she pulled the gun back from the Canadian's head. Mathew closed his eyes in relief, feeling tears fall down his cheeks before opening them again as the deranged woman had strode over to take hold of his brother's chin, nails digging into the bruise along Alfred's jawline. "Nyet...nyet the time is passed for that, Agent Jones. I will not kill either of you today. We will have some more fun and then we will see who shoots who in the end, hm?

_Just what the hell did she mean by that?_ Alfred wondered, but instead he spat out, "What do you hope to accomplish?" He continued, ignoring the knife that was now at his throat, "Don't you know you'll be found out, you'll get thrown in the slammer for the rest of your life! If you're lucky they'll give ya the chair!"

"Nyet." His Ivan's sister whispered close to his ear as the knife's edge cut in just so slightly into the agent's neck. "Nyet, I will get rid of you; I will free my brother from your lies, and he will see that he belongs by my side." Her eyes became dreamy and soft as she spoke. "My Vanya will thank me for this. I only ever have his interests at heart."

Mathew had been struggling against his gag as Natalya spoke to his brother and finally moving his mouth, to bite and drag the cloth down slowly bit by bit, he had loosened it enough that the fabric dropped at last around his neck.

As Alfred was at a loss for words, what Natalya had said sinking into his mind, his twin yelled out, "She's deluded Al! She wants her own brother! You can't reason with her! She wants to-" But his words cut out as Natalya had motioned to one of the men who came forward and with a heavy blow to the head, knocked the Canadian professor out cold.

"Matt!" Alfred yelled, uncaring of the knife he now strained against as it cut deeper into his neck, little drops of blood dripping into his collar. "Mattie!" The agent turned blue eyes gone bright with loathing on the woman now giggling girlishly at his distress. "You delusional bitch! This is all because you _want_ Ivan?" Alfred continued, his bravery overriding caution, "I hate to break it to you doll, but aside from the fact that you're his _sister_," the agent's face scrunched in disgust before he cracked a wide grin, "Vanya likes guys!"

Natalya's steel blue eyes widened and then narrowed to slits as she took the butt of Alfred's gun and hit him across the face with it. "Shut your mouth, you dirty, filthy..." She seemed lost for a word bad enough and so continued with, "You're not good enough for him! You just corrupt him against me, you, you,-" She hit him again. "I love my Vanya, you can't take him from me!"

Alfred, fighting the dizziness that was washing over him, yelled out at her, slightly mangling the words as the blood filled his mouth at the second hit. "Ah lub 'em more'n you eber could, crady bith!"

"Shut up, Shut up, Shut up!" Natalya screeched, her voice reaching heights only properly heard by bats as she continued to hit the agent with his own weapon until on the last swipe across Alfred's face, it discharged into the wall behind her.

Irate, Natalya turned from the now bemused man still swearing loosely at her as he spit out his own blood, asserting, "Ah do - you know id..."

She turned from Alfred and faced her byelorussian soldiers who jumped at her glare as Natalya screeched, "What are you doing here? GET OUT! GET OUT!"

The men ran from the basement as though they were mere boys in trouble. Natalya looked down at the blonde man her brother had chosen over her coldly before leaving him to fade into unconsciousness as she followed her men upstairs ready to explain the gunshot to her sister. _Bozhe, Katyusha is squeamish_, the younger sister thought dismissively as she pulled the chain to leave the two captives in the dark.

Alfred slowly drifted in and out of consciousness all night, his dreams were vivid and troubled. Each time he awoke it was with a start as he called around swollen lips to his brother, not getting an answer, he feared the worst. Losing track of how may times he'd woken from the same dream where he was back on the battlefield, the former pilot woke as he muttered in his sleep for Ivan to come get him if the fighting started up again. Waking fully, he called to his brother again and this time Mathew's voice finally assuaged his worries that he had lost his twin afterall.

"Maddy?" Alfred whispered across the table in the pitch black.

"Mmmm..." Mathew groaned back slowly, then waking more fully, he stammered, "Al? Are you alright? Did they drug you again?" Matt's voice was tinged in panic at the slurring in his brother's voice.

"Wha? No. Hid meh in tha mouth." Alfred replied calmly before his next words brought a waver to his voice. "Maddy, Ah'm so sorry. Ah'm sorry aboud all thid."

"Don't be silly! Its not your fault!" Matt replied in the dark before checking again that Alfred really was ok when it took quite a long time for him to respond.

The two brothers spoke a bit more, Alfred telling his twin that Gil had been at the apartment with Ivan when he left, and hearing the relieved sigh Mathew let out, he decided not to go on about the distrusted German who he still blamed for leaving his brother alone.

As the night gave way to dawn both the agent and the professor gave in to exhaustion, not knowing the dawn was breaking above and outside the windowless basement as the sun lit up the snow covered city.

…...

22nd of December, 1920

Hours after the sun had risen, the statuesque madame sat in her office sipping on hot safflower and rose tea. She had just gotten off the phone with Arthur who had called to ask to see her later. She was relieved to know her sister had not chased the man off; it seemed the British dealer would not be scared so easily.

Reaching one hand up to twirl her short blonde bob, Katyusha sat deep in thought about what her sister was doing. _Why, Nata, why can't we just let it be?_ She had asked her sister the night before after hearing a gun fire in the basement. Katyusha didn't care if the mafia ruled the crime scene, she had no ambitions on that front; she didn't care if her brother was in love with the American agent. Sure, prostitution was illegal, but she had a good cover with the hotel and plenty of money for bribes. More importantly, she had missed her little brother. If Ivan was in love with Agent Jones, surely she would see him more often.

Katyusha also had not forgotten that Jones had saved her from Vargas' bullets that fateful day her sister had mistakenly nabbed the wrong Italian brother.

Dropping her hand from twisting her hair, she rolled the coral beads in her fingers instead. Why couldn't her sister just let Ivan love the agent...why couldn't she just let the Italians do their thing? They had stayed out of her part of town so far...until her sister showed up of course.

All Katyusha had worried about before her sister's unexpected appearance was that her girls were well taken care of, that she had a good, reliable client base, and had made a decent life for herself here in her new home.

The madame sighed heavily and took another sip of her tea. Of course she had missed her siblings, but as she was stuck in the middle between her sister and brother's clashing ideologies, Katyusha had not expected to see them for some time at least. As it had been three years, she had been happy at first to see her sister, but her sestrenka had only brought troubles with her.

Suddenly the sister Katyusha had just been contemplating strolled happily past her office door and down the hall. There was a spring in Natalya's step and Katyusha saw her sister spinning a pistol in one hand as she sang an old folk song under her breath. the song, a search for a missing love, was chilling under the circumstances.

"_Ya sproseel ya'syenya, gde biel mo'ee lyoubimee... _

_yasen ne otvateel, ya kocheya golovoy._

_poetomoo ya poproseel topolya: Gde moy'ee lyoubimee?"_

The madame put down her tea and ran from the office to confront her sister. Natalya turned, still twirling the gun as she smiled at her older sister. "Katyusha," the shorter woman began, "You do not want to follow me down; if you could not handle it yesterday morning..." She trailed off looking up at her nervous older sister seriously.

"Nata...it is nearly ten o'clock in the morning, maybe you would let me take Jones and his brother something to eat? They have been down there more than a day, and the brother, has been there for two without a meal." The older sister clasped her hands behind her hopefully.

"Oh Katyusha, moya sestra..." Natalya patted her older sister's arm fondly. "You are too sweet. But remember, you brought that Canadian a drink yesterday, and" the younger sister's expression chilled, "someone forgot to re-tie the gag."

As Katyusha paled and apologized to her sister, Natalya continued to smile sweetly. "Do not worry yourself about this sestrenka." She looked down at the shining metal of the government issue revolver as she continued. "They will not need anything to eat. I promise."

The older sister didn't miss the younger's ominous words. "Nata.." Katyusha was afraid of the answer though she had known her sister's intentions all along. "What are you going to do?"

"Oh," Natalya's steely blue eyes lit up joyously, "We're just going to play a little game." She reached into the pocket of her short blue skirt to withdraw a single bullet. "A little roulette."

The sisters had walked a little ways toward the door to the basement as they talked and now as Natalya smiled up at her sister in psuedo-sweetness as she loaded the one bullet into the agent's gun, Katyusha knew she had to act, and she only hoped she would have enough time.

"Al-Already Natalya? So early in the day? When the sun is still out, a-and the sn-now will show a trail of blood?" She hoped to persuade her sister to postpone murdering the brothers just long enough. "A-and what about the other one? Nata - with only one bullet?"

Natalya grinned genuinely. "Horosho!" She squeezed her sister's arm tightly in painful affection. "I am so happy to see you concerned and on my side!" leaning up to the taller woman, Natalya whispered, "But do not worry sestra, I will have plenty of fun with them first and then we can dispose of the bodies down stairs without ever having to drag them across the snow."

"As to your other question," The shorter sister went on, as she turned the knob of the first door that led to the basement below, "The one who does not die from the bullet will meet my knife's edge." Natalya looked up at her sister from the first step down the winding stair that led to a second wooden door. "Tell your girls, sestra, not to worry when they hear the shot." She smiled as sweetly as icing on a poisoned cake as she loaded the one bullet and spinning the cylinder, the byelorussian skipped happily down the steps.

Before her younger sister had reached the second door, Katyusha had turned and run as lightly down the hall as she could. She passed her office and rushed up the stairway, passing her working girls in various stages of primping in their rooms for the day ahead, the madame warned each one to stay put, that she would be locking the front door, and would return soon. She didn't wait for an answer or reaction from any of the girls, but instead made haste to the room at the end of the hall which her sister had taken.

Pushing the door open roughly, the tall blonde made for the desk beside the window immediately. As she opened the drawer Katyusha sighed in grim satisfaction that she had found what she sought. Agent Jones' wallet.

She flipped through the leather wallet, passed the badge, the spare key, the twenty dollars her British beau hadn't taken, the dogtags the former pilot kept as a momento, and then finally she found the driver's license the agent never used. There on the bottom, right under the date of birth: July 4th, 1899, was Jones's address.

Sure that was where her brother still was, Katyusha rushed back down the hall, trusting to her sister's sadistic nature that Natalya would play with her prey long enough to buy her time to get to Ivan and bring him here. The tall blonde ran down the stairs and out the back door to her yellow ford model T, started the engine and raced away toward the downtown apartment complex.

…...

While Ivan's older sister had been combing through the Agent's wallet for an I.D to find where she could locate her brother, across town at the very address Katyusha searched for, Ivan looked at the wall behind his new friend as the pale German sat on the floor opposite him. Two nights had now gone by without Alfred. Gilbert rested his head on the white stuffed polar bear Ivan recognized as belonging to his American love's brother. while Gilbird, the man's little yellow chick slept on the toe of Gil's boot.

Without disturbing the bird, Gilbert moved from reclining as he had been for the past who-knew-how-long thinking despairingly that they hadn't heard anything, to a cross-legged position. Searching for anything to take his mind off of thoughts of all the horrors that could have befallen Matthew, the pale man noticed his Russian friend twirling a Red Army cap. A Captain's by the look of it, though he was no expert on Russian military symbols of rank.

The two men had taken the night before in shifts and as Gilbert watched Ivan play absentmindedly with his cap, the discontented breathing and occasional angry mumbles in Russian made more sense. Gil was sure he had heard Alfred's name in there once.

The pale German decided it had been long enough since the war to bring it up now, maybe the conversation would keep his mind from Mathew and his desire to simply grab his gun and run out into the city, searching at random. Red eyes moved up from the cap to the Russian's face as Gilbert broke the silence. "So how long have you been in the army?"

"Since 1914. The war broke out as I turned eighteen." the violet eyed man replied, his expression still downcast, clearly fighting the same urge as the German across from him.

"Then we are the same age." The pale man nodded. "My bruder joined in '16." The Russian stayed quiet, still twirling the cap in his hands, and so Gilbert proded him again. "You're a captain?"

Finally Ivan stopped twirling the cap in his hands and looked at his German friend directly. "Da. I moved up quickly I know, but it was not because of my family;" Ivan was quick to point out. "I turned our titles to the state...once I inherited them." The Russian soldier sighed heavily, "The eastern front was one battle after another it seemed in no time I had grown up." Violet eyes clouded in reminiscence as he saw the pilot crash from the sky in his memories, thinking of Alfred again would do him no good; He had been wracked with worry all night. Though he felt sure it had been the cheka who took his Americanski, Ivan wondered what could be taking them so long to send for him. The Russian wanted desperately to change the subject.

"So, what rank does your brother hold?" Ivan asked his friend politely, regardless of the fact that he and the pale German's brother had clearly not been on the same side.

"Feldwebel; though I know he would have been promoted had he not been taken prisoner in Italy." Gilbert's expression hardened as he thought of his brother's time in Padua.

"Ah..." The Russian Captain noticed the change, and feeling strange to have sympathy for a German soldier who was, and still is, an enemy and yet, his new friend's family, Ivan felt conflicted. "I am sorry to hear that. I have heard that the Italians were..." He thought how to say it, " in some places, as hard on their prisoners as...well, as the Russian winter was on ours."

Gil petted the little chick on his boot. "Ja, if it wasn't for..." Suddenly finding he didn't want to think about Feliciano and the way his brother got out of prison, he trailed off. "Well, he is lucky to be alive."

"Da.." The violet eyed Russian nodded. "We all are lucky to have made it out of that war..." Ivan let his thought trail off as well as he thought of his nation, still at war with itself. Instead of dwelling on this, he relaxed. If Gil's brother was held in Italy, he had likely been stationed on the Western front and therefore this might not been too awkward a conversation. "He was stationed on the western front? or was he only involved in the Italian campaign?" Even as he asked, Ivan thought of the horrors he'd heard of in France.

The capo's older brother hadn't really thought this out when he had been searching for a subject to take his mind off despairing thoughts of Mathew. How could he not have considered this, Gilbert wondered as he answered. "Actually he..." _Gott this is awkward,_ he thought as he continued,"Ludwig was on the Eastern Front until the summer of '17 when he left for Italy."

"Ah..." the slight smile Ivan relied on to keep his emotions in check wavered slightly as he thought, _Bozhe, should I even ask?_ "He was not at Bucharest in '16? December?"

His new and unlikely friend nodded once, red eyes on the chick hopping now from foot to foot, "I take it you were too?"

"...Da."

The silence was awkward and filled with tension and remembered hostility.

Suddenly Ivan broke the silence looking inexplicably cheerful, "But we are both still here, da? So we must not have met."

Still unused to Ivan's odd worldview on what constitutes good news, Gilbert returned the smile with some difficulty "Ja, thank God for that."

"You are close to your brother then?" The Bolshevik nodded in understanding. "I am very close with my sisters..though they do not always share my views.." Suddenly embarrassed to be admitting so much of his family troubles and angry that he had not been able to help his younger sister understand the plight of the proletariat, Ivan's small smile dropped. "Moya mlyadshaya sestra, My youngest sister...how can she be the way she is?" He spoke aloud, but primarily to himself as he lamented his sister's instability. "I feel I failed as an older brother at times...to be a tsarist in this modern day!" The Russian shook his head, unable to understand what had gone wrong with his little half sister.

The pale German nodded in sympathy "You can't blame yourself, Ivan. I never thought my straight-laced little bruder would well..." The bartender sighed as he looked across at the Bolshevik. "would end up where he has."

"Da..I suppose so..still I.." Ivan stopped, suddenly realizing this may be a touchy subject as it was well known that his sister was trying to take out Gil's brother and the family he worked with. The Russian faltered; he had not considered this as he got to know the German better over their shared concern over Mathew and Alfred. "Ah..."

The pale haired man cocked his head curiously eyeing his new friend. "Hmm?"

Sighing, Ivan felt it was best to be open about it. "I have just realized something. I feel like a fool." He continued under Gilbert's crimson gaze. "Do you know why Alfred came to visit me in Russia?"

"I never thought to ask." Of course he had not asked Mathew about his brother's work, just as he had not wanted to mention what Ludwig did for a living. It had been a foolish dream, of course, to think they could ignore that forever. Though apprehensive, the capo's older brother asked curiously, "Why?"

"Ah.." Ivan looked down as he ran his fingers along the ends of his scarf. "My little sister..she left when the revolution happened. She had always been close to our family in Belarus." He looked up now, pale violet eyes meeting his friend's vibrant red. "I knew she had gone there after the war when I returned to find the note my older sister left saying she would try her life here in Chicago..I never knew what had happened to Nata, until Alfred told me." Ivan stopped, and waited to see if he needed to go on, or if Gil would figure it out on his own.

The cogs were visibly turning in the German's head.

"Nata?" Gilbert's eyes widened. "as in Natalya? Family in Belarus? As in, your sister, Natalya, the Byelorussian!"

"That would be how you would know her..da." Ivan replied, "I was asked to try to get her to come back home..." The Russian soldier sighed as his thoughts again went to his troubled sister.

Gilbird flew from the pale man's boot as Gilbert slapped his forehead. "Gott...why didn't we consider this before?" He stood rapidly as he went on, "An unknown woman assailant...who would have a reason to take something valuable to the Vargas family or to foil their plans..."

He looked to Ivan, not wanting to offend, but feeling the need to ask, "Is there any reason your little sister would have for taking Matthew? Her deal with Alfred turning sour perhaps?"

With a sharp gasp, the taller man stood as well. "The deal did fall apart..but nyet, Natalya would not go so far..." The Russian's words were clearly more for his own mind than to persuade his German friend.

"The papers say the Byelorussian uses knives...Elizeveta and Edelstein were sliced up pretty badly." Gilbet continued, only to be interupted by Ivan as the Russian took him by the shoulders. Violet eyes wide, Ivan exclaimed, "Nyet! Tell me you are lying to me!"

"What? Why would I do that?" Gilbert pulled away as his taller friend let go of him. "Do you really think it's her?"

Ivan shuddered slightly at the though of his sister and the knives she loved. "knives...moya sestra always with knives..wait..." The larger man tried to calm himself, "Possibly it is another Byelorussian... did anyone see anything about the woman who abducted Mathew?"

Ivan ran a hand through his light hair thinking of Natalya and her unreasonable outburst at Alfred when they had met with his sisters only a few days ago. "Oh Nata, why must you be so jealous?" He looked out the window reconsidering his earlier ideas of who could be responsible for his Alfred's disappearance. Ivan had never considered that his sister would go so far...

Gilbert's answer interrupted Ivan's thoughts. "I never saw her. I came too late. All I know is it was a woman weilding knives. I couldn't get anything else out of Edelstein, that bastard. If there's any chance at all...we may as well investigate." The German moved toward the door, more than ready to be in action.

"Da." Ivan slipped his arms into the sleeves of his coat, anxious to see if it could be true that his sister had kidnapped the man he loved and worried about what his sister was capable of. Ivan had his hand on the doorknob, Gilbert right behind, him stowing his gun into his jacket, when the sound of rapid footsteps approaching up the stairs drew both men's attention.

Ivan threw open the door, unsure who he would see on the otherside, the cheka? the mafia? some coworker or neighbor of Alfred's? Or his heart hoped, his Americanski himself?

His light violet eyes went wide. He had never expected the woman who now stood on his doorstep, out of breathe, holding something to her chest, and looking as if she had sprinted up the stairs from the still running vehicle below. His older sister.

"Katyusha?"

The madame wasted no time, and though her heart quivered with fear at her sister's wrath as well as the possibility that she had acted too late, the tall blonde looked to the pale German, and then meeting her brother's face again she spoke rapidly.

"Vanya, I'm so sorry I did not come sooner," She cut off his question as she shoved the wallet into his hands. "I'm so sorry, mo'ee brat! We have to hurry, now," Katyusha took hold of her brother's hand and the three began moving down the stairs two at a time as Katyusha filled them in. "Nata has lost her mind, Vanya, she has Jones and his brother in the basement."

Katyusha slid into the driver's seat, Ivan next to her, and Gilbert in the back, after the German whispered to his chick to fly home to the Roost and wait for him. The older sister continued as she started the engine and drove as fast as possible.

"Ivan, it is horrible, and I have been just as bad to not tell you sooner! I am so sorry!" the blonde apologized again , as she went on. "She means to kill them both Vanya!" Katyusha was now in tears as she drove, the expressions of mixed despair and extreme anger on both men's faces prompting her to apologize again and again, "Please forgive me for not coming sooner" His older sister cried.

"Oh, Ivan, what she has done..and what she intends to do...I am so sorry!" the tears fell down her face as she drove. The Russian man turned in his seat, his heart chilled, his blood rushing to spread the frigid feeling of dread throughout his body, Ivan asked, "Moya sestra - what has she done to him?" Before Katyusha could do more than apologize again, terrified to tell her brother, the albino German in the backseat leaned forward between them, paler than a sheet. "Can't this thing go faster?" Gilbert yelled, his eyes as wild as Ivan's were worried and his sister's terrified as Katyusha slammed her heel down on the pedal, terrified of what would happen if she had not been fast enough.

_End of Chapter 13!_

_I hope you all enjoyed it and don't hate me too much for the cliffhanger! Pazhaloosta, please review my dear sweet beloved readers, I hunger for your thoughts! _

_Castle Walk – popular dance just before the war in Europe and America_

_Yeblia – Russian: Fuck!_

_Sestrenka – Russian: sissy_

_Gil's prayer translated:_

_Please God, let him live. I would give anything to know he is alive. My God, let me take his place._

_Feldwebel= (to my understanding, as I looked this up, not having a lot of, or any, prior knowledge about WW1 German army ranks) platoon leader, just above private, below other officers. _

_Nat's bit of the song: 'I asked the Ash tree' translated: _

_I asked the ash-tree, where was my loved one_

_The ash-tree didn't answer me, shaking its head_

_So I asked the poplar, Where is my loved one?_

_Thanks again my lovely readers! I do so love your reviews (:  
_


	14. Chapter 14

_Hello everyone! I apologize for the wait, there was soooo much happening in just this one day, and thus, I give you a very long but action packed...and quite citrusy...chapter! I hope you all enjoy the long chapter and savor it...sorry, I had no idea it would be this long, just...alot going on. I promise its jam packed and not with filler!_

_Ludwig is a badass mobster, Ivan finally gets his pipe, and Feliciano, well he's used to getting what he wants...I'll say no more, you'll have to read!_

_There are two generic Italian mobsters who make an appearance in this, their roles are brief and they exist to provide antagonism, (Though there are luckliy 3 Italians in the hetalia universe for me to use, I just need a wee bit more for the mafia, ya know?) _

_As always the M rating is there for __**sex and violence**__! Those of you who stick with this chapter to the end, I promise you'll be rewarded. (: (I Don't own hetalia, etc)_

_And lastly, before I stop talking so you can start reading, THANK YOU SOO MUCH to all you beautiful, wonderful readers who have been reviewing! Your reviews make my day brighter! They really really do!_

_(as with my last HUGE chapter, the translations will be at the end of each scene)_

_And now, chapter 14,_

_...  
_

The late morning of the 22nd of December, 1920.

As the bolshevik soldier and the capo's brother sped toward the Gold Star hotel, the young mafioso was taking care of the day to day responsibilities of his position.

The petite boss sat at his desk. The phone had been ringing all morning. Feliciano was just enjoying the moment of spare peace, thinking of the plans he had made to have lunch with his hard working capo when the sound of the phone once again grated on his ears.

"Veh~" The mafioso sighed as he picked up the receiver and half heartedly answered, "Si?"

But the man on the other end wasn't one of the family, wasn't petitioning him for a favor or begging for an extension on a loan, it was the gunsmith Feliciano had gone to visit earlier in the month.

"Sal Russo!" The brunette's light caramel eyes lit up as he sat straighter in the chair; Feliciano's face split into an easy grin as he listened to the man on the other end. Ludwig's gift was ready; the man was down stairs with it at that moment.

"Si, si - grazie!" The petite mafioso agreed to let the gun maker come up. Feliciano stood and quickly went to meet the other man at the elevator entrance.

A moment later Russo was shown into the Don's personal rooms. The middle aged man opened the leather buckled case to display the brand new custom upgraded M1921 Thompson submachine gun.

Top of the line and before the company would unveil this model in January. Feliciano smiled as he took the weapon in his hands, sure his German love would be delighted. This particular gun had been modified to shoot even more rounds faster, and with a greater accuracy.

"Molto bene!" the younger Italian praised the work of the older as he looked over the weapon for that signature phrase he had asked for. Feliciano was thankful that the gunsmith didn't speak German, and at any rate the young mafioso knew he wouldn't talk if he did. Russo owed his family far, far too much to do anything that could risk an increase to his very forgiving payment schedule or risk the loss of nearly all his most loyal customers.

Feliciano set the gun carefully back in it's case. The mob boss continued to smile softly at the words etched into the barrel. _mit Liebe, meine Soldaten._

After slipping the man a very sizable tip on top of the price he'd already paid, Don Vargas said goodbye to the much relieved gunsmith. With a noticeable spring in his step the young mafioso returned to his office and slid the gift beneath the bookshelf against one wall.

Though he had more meetings lined up all day, the petite brunette felt a lightness in his heart as he thought about the coming holiday. "Veh~" Feliciano sighed as his thoughts turned to his handsome capo; Ludwig was out checking on a new racket and then attempting to talk to Gilbert again. When they met for lunch it would be so hard not to give him the gun right away.

Once again the phone rang, interrupting his daydream with the responsibilities facing the Don of Chicago. "Veh.." the slight Italian sighed again. It would be a long day. Lunch could not possibly come soon enough.

As the mafioso answered the phone, his capo had already settled things with the greedy over confident bookkeeper of one of the Vargas' underground casinos. Ludwig was just heading toward the Roost to see if his brother was in, maybe getting things ready for the evening...

...

_Molto bene =__ very good_

_mit Liebe, meine Soldaten = with love, my soldier_

...

Of course Ludwig would not find his older brother at work, as the crimson eyed man raced along the snow covered city streets with the bolshevik captain in the car driven by Ivan's teary eyed apologetic sister.

They raced toward the basement of the Gold Star, where at that moment the Russian's younger sister was smiling silkily as she withdrew the agent's revolver from the pocket of her lace pinafore.

The Belarussian twirled the gun in her hand. It had been fun to play with her captives...tormenting the brothers with her threats and knives. Of course she had had the hardest time silencing that American her brother had chosen over her. Even after he'd taken another punch to the mouth, Jones continued to talk back.

At least the swelling had gone down and at this point his lower lip just split instead, Alfred was thankful for this as he kept his chin up, glaring at the woman holding he and his brother captive. "You crazy bitch," the blonde man spit the blood from his mouth, aiming at the Belarussian man who had dealt the latest blow.

The federal agent continued, addressing the uselessness of what the pale haired woman was doing; he was completely unaware of his brother's muffled advice that he just shut up because there was no reasoning with the delusional woman.

But as Natalya Arlovskaya brushed long platinum blonde hair over one shoulder and placed the gun down on the table between them, Alfred's words faltered and slowed. When Ivan's empathically deficient sister began to spin the gun, humming sweetly to herself, the agent was finally silent, knowing in his gut what she meant to do, his blue eyes focused through crooked glasses on the spinning weapon.

As the pistol stopped turning on the table top, the barrel pointing to his brother, Alfred found his voice again.

"No way, not Matt! C'mon, I'll go first!" Agent Jones shook the chair as he banged into the table with his knees.

His brother's eyes were wide, and Alfred saw the realization dawning in the young professor's expression. This wasn't Mathew's world, but he knew what was going on.

The Canadian brother realized what the Belarussian intended and he wasn't about to watch his brother shoot himself in some vain attempt to spare him. Mathew shook his head at his struggling twin and through his gag tried to get Alfred to calm down, _Al never does know when to shut up,_ he heard himself thinking and nearly laughed though the tears had begun to form in the corner of his eyes as a part of his mind told him quietly that they were both about to die.

Whoever took the gunshot would die first, but Mathew was too intelligent to think for a second that either of them would be allowed to leave the basement alive.

"Oh, what is this?" Natalya crooned as she leaned down to the table and looked to both men. "You both want to be the first to play my little game?"

The Belarussian giggled as she stepped closer to the scholarly brother. "You do not want to see your brother die, do you _Mattie_?" She spoke to Mathew, but her steely eyes were only for Alfred as she delighted at the response he was giving her, fighting vainly against the ropes and swearing.

Running one hand through his blonde waves, she kept her eyes on Mathew's twin as she leaned to whisper audibly into the Canadian's ear, "But would it not break his heart to see you," she tapped the cool silver of her dagger against the side of his forehead, "with that cold, cold steel against your temple, _Mattie_?"

As the gagged twin gulped and blanched pale, his brother was near to tears as he pleaded with his captor.

"Come on, Its really me you want," Alfred leaned forward onto the table, imploring his love's psychotic sister to listen to reason, "Can't you just let my brother go? He won't tell anyone, will ya Matt?" The agent looked over his glasses across at his twin as Mathew closed his eyes.

Seeing his brother's resigned expression, Alfred became instantly desperate. "Look, I'll take all six shots until I get the one, I know its me you want dead, Mathew has nothing to do with any of this!" As Natalya merely grinned and continued playing with her prey, tapping long manicured fingernails atop Mathew's head.

"Please!" Agent Jones continued, "Please, I'll go first, let me go first!" When nothing seemed to make a difference he switched into Natalya's language, which he had picked up more and more from Ivan. "Pazhaloosta, ne mo'ee brat! not my brother!"

Her eyes slits of cold slate, the Belarussian stopped tapping the canadian's head.

"Did mo'ee Vanya teach you that?" She spoke slowly, her words dripping like cyanide as she crossed the table to the American agent. "Because it will be the last time you say it."

Natalya knelt to untie Alfred's right arm up to the elbow, granting the agent's request.

Enjoying the muffled cries of "Alfr, na - ih dun'n mah'er!" issuing from around Mathew's gag, Natalya slid the gun to her brother's lover. "You will not try to do anything unwise, da, Jones?" She snapped her fingers and Alfred saw one of her men move behind his twin. The Belarussian responsible for the freshest blood now drying on his chin held a machete to Mathew's throat.

"Da?" Natalya smiled sweetly as he nodded.

_Alright, this is it._ Alfred thought to himself as his mind raced over the childhood he'd shared with his twin brother, the man he had become in war, the friends he had made, his career at the bureau, the love he had found in such an unlikely man, Ivan. Alfred wondered what his Russian love would do...would he go back to the Soviet Union, face the trial on the thirtieth? He sincerely hoped not.

These thoughts raced themselves through his head; thoughts of Ivan and the life they could have had, images of his childhood with the man who now sat across from him, wide eyed and frozen in place.

Alfred's eyes found his brother's as he wordlessly held the gun to his temple. The experienced federal agent's heart pounded in his chest, not from nerves, which seemed to have left him, but from a desire to work a lifetime of heartbeats into the small time he had left. With the business end of the weapon now pressed cooly against his skin, Alfred silently prayed that his brother would somehow get out of this alive. It was still possible that Ivan and Gil would be looking for them...hopefully they could get to Mathew before it was too late.

The Agent prepared himself for the bullet to be in the readied chamber.

Alfred Jones closed his eyes; his mind now blank and clear.

He squeezed the trigger.

'Click'

Nothing.

Nothing happened.

He was still alive and now that his mind was registering that fact, Alfred lowered his gun, not sure whether the emotion he was feeling was relief or despair.

As soon as Natalya reached for the revolver still in his hand, the agent swept his arm to the side, trying desperately to keep it out of her possession, away from his brother.

Determined, Alfred aimed it above and tried to shot into the ceiling, trying to discharge the bullet.

'Click, Click'

He managed to shoot off two chambers before Natalya took the gun.

No bullet. The deadly round of lead was still in his gun.

Blue eyes wide in realization of what he had just done, Alfred looked at the gun now in the Belarussian's hand, He had just insured his brother had less of a chance. What had he done? He had just unwittingly increased Mathew's chances of having the bullet from 20% to 33%.

How had he been so stupid? Alfred's shoulders slumped, he couldn't find the words needed, all he knew was that the probability of getting the chamber with the bullet would jump from 33% to 50% to 100% now. All he could do was pray the fourth chamber was empty as the first three had been. Hope the next one wasn't. He had never hoped for death, it was a strange feeling; though Alfred doubted the sociopathic woman would really let his brother live, he still hoped they would be found, and if he could buy Mathew a little time with his death, it would not have been pointless.

Afterall, the former flyboy had faced death several times; his scholarly brother had not. Mathew had always been the bright one, the interpreter, the professor. Alfred's breath slowed with his heart as Natalya's pale fingers wrapped his brother's around the grip and trigger.

_I love you Mattie._ Thats what Alfred wanted to say to his brother as his twin shakily lifted the weapon. He wanted to, but the words wouldn't come, too much like a goodbye, they stayed in the back of his throat. They yelled themselves inside his brain.

Instead, it was a choked "I'm sorry".

Those were the words that came out as agent Jones hung his head and prayed for a miracle. Prayed that the chamber would be empty, that they would be rescued.

"suh'kay" Mathew breathed around the gag in his mouth. Not that it was okay. It was far from okay.

Seeing his brother pull the trigger against his own head had been terrifying. The young history professor's heart had raced then dropped, then raced wildly again. Mathew thought of his life, flashing by like the cliche said. His careful, quiet life. The childhood he had shared with his twin, becoming an adult surrounded by beloved books, putting his knowledge to work for his country, finally falling in love.

The tears began to fall from where they had gathered just behind his eyes. He would not have changed a thing.

Having suddenly forgotten how to breathe, Mathew shakily held the gun to the soft flesh of his temple.

…...

Outside in the swirling snow, Katyusha had just pulled up and before she had put her vehicle in park, the two men she had driven jumped from the car and ran up the back steps of the brothel.

Of course the door was locked.

Rushing toward her brother, who had turned wild violet eyes her direction, the tall blonde slid on the ice, cursing her ridiculous heels.

Ivan grabbed his sister's arm and pulled her up the steps as Katyusha fumbled to bring the key up and into the lock.

As soon as the door swung open the longer legged Russian ran ahead, and looking both directions, Ivan turned questioningly to his older sister. "Gde?" He asked her where to go, and trembling, she lead them down the hall and opened the door that lead down the stairway to the basement.

Katyusha stopped there at the basement stairs while her brother and the pale German rushed down them. She didn't want to be anywhere nearby when Ivan confronted Natalya…especially if it was too late. She thought about how her sister's eyes had flashed as she had loaded the single bullet and stepped down the stairs.

The eldest sister ran toward the lobby; she was glad all her ladies were upstairs and that Arthur wasn't due to come by until later. She closed herself in her office and waited anxiously to hear gunshots.

As his older sister was rushing away toward her office, Ivan reached the basement door with Gilbert right behind him. The German was in such a state that he ran into the tall Russian's back as they approached the door.

Ivan paid no heed to this however as he knocked the door from its rusted hinges and the two men entered with a bang amidst the shower of splintered wood.

The scene before them made both men stop suddenly. It took but a heartbeat for them to take in their surroundings.

The two twins sat at a rickety table across from each other. Both were tied to their chairs, with only each brother's right arm free from the elbow. Alfred, his glasses askew but still on, with more than a few dark bruises marring his face, was hanging his head and looked to be praying. Across from him, his brother was still gagged and sat straight. His eyes held tight shut; Mathew was shakily pointing a gun to his own temple.

Both men turned toward the sound of the door blasting from its hinges, Alfred looking up with wide victorious eyes; his prayers apparently answered.

"Vanya!" The agent smiled broadly, regardless of his bloodied lip.

Mathew slumped in his chair, the gun still held loosely in his shaking hand. He turned toward the doorway; tears spilling from blue violet eyes.

The sight of his kind, innocent, Canadian man bound and gagged with a gun to his own head had been enough to spring Gilbert into action. The pale German let out a low furious sound from the back of his throat and disregarding his own weapon, he lept across the table to tackle the stunned Natalya.

Ivan had already grabbed the nearest blunt object, a discarded metal pipe that had been leaning against the wall. He had immediately set about waylaying his sister's men.

Letting the gun drop from his fingers to the table top, the young professor's tears came in earnest, falling down his cheeks in relief and horror to soak the cloth gag tied tightly around his mouth.

As Mathew sat in shock, his body finally expressing the terror he had been feeling that long morning, his twin was knocking his chair side to side in an effort to free himself and join the fight. Ivan was swinging the old pipe as though it was a deadly extension of his own arm, as Gilbert struggled to relieve his adversary of her knives.

The experienced Russian soldier first brought the pipe down on the head of one man, and then as the first fell to the floor in a heap, Ivan swung the metal implement sharply to the left and caught the second in the side of the throat even as the other man had taken aim.

"Mo'ee lyoubov!" The Russian hurried toward his American love still bound to the chair, but before he could undo a single knot, the agent yelled and nodded his head forward. "Ivan! Behind you!"

Turning sharply, Ivan saw three of his sister's new recruits running down the steps toward him. the broad soviet captain swung his weapon low to catch the first man in the gut before bringing the pipe up with a sickening crack as the metal of the pipe met the other man's jaw. Light violet eyes now slits, Ivan turned to the second man through the door.

While the Russian faced his sister's men, the German had knocked one long serrated dagger from Natalya's hand, and now conflicted, the pale man ducked and wove around her, unsure if he should do more than subdue the wild eyed woman. She was still a woman after all, a voice spoke in his head. Even if this woman had already caused him to drop his pistol in their scuffle, and now moved forward against him, her knife gleaming as her heels clicked across the dirty basement floor.

Blue eyes cold as steel, Natalya sprang forward, capitalizing on her opponent's moment of weakness. the petite woman slashed her blade in a diagonal movement going for the German's exposed neck.

Gilbert lifted an arm in time to spare his throat and took the wound just below the shoulder instead. With a quick hiss, he felt the fabric of his coat as well as the shirt beneath ripping as the razor sharp dagger dug into the muscle of his arm painfully.

At the very instant of pain, the chivalrous voice was gone, replaced by a more primal one, a voice now reminding him of the cut he'd seen glittering beneath the tears on his innocent man's face. This blade had been the one to injure his beloved Mathew, the voice whispered to him darkly from his heart.

Reacting instinctively, the pale German caught the Belarussian's wrist as she made to pull back. Natalya didn't give up her weapon readily and as the two fought back and forth, the dagger was inches from the pale man's face before Gil managed to turn the weapon against the deceptively strong petite woman. Arlovskaya smirked at him as she threw all her effort into turning the knife back around. Blood red eyes glared into steely blue as Gilbert pressed with all his strength to kept the blade against the side of the Belarussian's face.

Suddenly the platinum haired woman turned into the dagger, uncaring of the blade that now cut into her flesh. One of her men had managed to land a blow to her brother, and as Ivan's deranged sister screamed "Vanya!" her grip slackened on the dagger and it cut a deep gash along her pale cheek before Gilbert let it fall to the floor between them. Blood red eyes victorious, the pale German kicked the weapon across the room.

He should never have looked down.

Natalya had wriggled from his grip and backed up toward the table. Without a care to her wound, as she bled copiously from the cut into the neckline of her dress, the Belarussian woman now advanced slowly on him again. The agent's gun had been picked up from the table and was now aimed at his head.

"Shall we see what your Mathew's fate would have been, Beilschmidt?" She spit out his name like poison, thinking of the capo who had cost her so many men.

As Ivan brought down his fourth of Natalya's men with the improvised weapon, his sister stepped closer to the pale German, relishing the delicious thought of depriving her hated enemy of his older brother.

With a cool detached smile, she squeezed the trigger, interested to see what would happen.

The bullet blasted from the chamber with a kick and ricocheted off the stone wall where Gilbert's head had been a moment before he dropped to the ground.

Mathew's near fate was clear.

His heart cooled dangerously at the realization of what would have happened had Ivan's older sister arrived a moment later. From where he lay on the floor, Gil could see the gleaming silver metal of the knife he had kicked out of the way a moment ago.

Scrambling to his feet, the German took note of his Russian friend; Ivan had another of his sister's men pinned against the wall with the pipe. With both hands busy, Ivan leaned back and then headbutted the unfortunate man, who's skull cracked against the stone behind, as Alfred continued to struggle against the ropes that bound him to the chair.

With a determined expression, Gilbert slid past Natalya to pick up the discarded weapon, still red with both his own and the Belarussian's blood along the edge. "Ivan!" He yelled and then threw the knife to the larger pipe-wielding man who caught it by the hilt just as he brought the metal tool to his opponent's back.

Turning back to face the Belarussian woman, Gilbert didn't see Ivan back into the rickety table as his sister's last two men had come down to join their fellows and teamed up against him. As the knife fell from the Russian soldier's hand to land in front of his American love, the German's attention had been stolen by Arlovskaya whose eyes were gleaming more crazed than ever. She threw the now empty gun down at her feet and laughed wickedly, tossing silvery hair over her shoulder. the Belarussian cried out at him in her native tongue, and though Gilbert had no idea what she said, it was more than clear what she meant as the deranged woman jumped him, knocking him against the wall.

This time, however, the capo's brother didn't hold back; at the realization at just how close he had come to losing the blonde still crying silently in the metal folding chair, Gilbert's actions resembled his little brother's ruthlessness as he attempted what Ludwig had not yet been able to do. Prying Natalya's vice-like grip away from his wind pipe, Gil's dark red eyes were cold as he turned the tables on her, and with his own pale hands around her throat, the German kicked the Belarussian's legs out from under her and held her against the wall.

Natalya kicked and hissed out her hatred of him, but able to see nothing but what could have been, and nearly had been, his Mathew's fate Gilbert was unaware of Agent Jones throwing his chair against the table to finally grasp the knife and turn it against his ropes, Alfred having just been able to free himself in time to join Ivan in subduing the two remaining men.

It was his new friend's grip on his shoulder that caused the pale German to drop Ivan's sister and back away as the two siblings now shouted at eachother in the unfamiliar language; The tall Russian didn't quell at his sister's unstable nature this time. Ivan's anger was too great to leave any room for fear as he glared at Natalya through slitted violet eyes, and held the pipe in his hands, the end dripping with the blood of many of his sister's men.

Gilbert backed away from the two siblings and shook his mind of its murderous thoughts to take in his surroundings. While Ivan and Natalya faced eachother, the agent was checking the Belarussian's men for signs of life. It seemed a few might make it; Ivan had done more damage than any could have expected, armed with only an old discarded pipe.

While the exhausted agent stood and leaned against the wall, the the pale German moved immediately to Mathew. The first thing he did was to loosen the gag and toss it far away.

The Canadian professor let out a sigh before red rimmed blue-violet eyes found those of beloved crimson; eyes Mathew had truly believed he'd never see again. He felt the other man's hand running along the cut in his cheek. "Gil-" Matt spoke, but his voice broke and sounded weak in his own ears. _How long had he gone without water? A day, day and a half?_

But his German love stopped him there with a soft kiss to his Canadian's lips. Gilbert hurriedly unfastened all the ropes that bound his man to the chair as Mathew's brother approached. "Don't talk mein Liebe, Its alright, I'm getting you out of here."

And he was, now that Ivan was taking care of things with Natalya, or at least Gilbert assumed as he had no idea what was being said, and all of the Belarussian's muscle was laying unconscious on the floor, the fighting was over, and all the pale man wanted to do was get his love as far away from there as fast as possible.

"Hey bro, you did just swell back there!" Alfred grinned again in an attempt at lightening the mood, which would have been more successful had the agent not taken so many hits to the mouth which left him with dried blood along his lips and the dark bruises to his jawline.

Matt stood from the chair, feeling as though he could breathe more fully than he had since first being picked up by that Hungarian woman. Shakily the young professor took in a long breath, trying to ignore the pain in his ribs from that first fall in the assassin's kitchen..

"Oh, Al, I thought-" He began hoarsely.

"I know man, I did too." The other twin replied as he wrapped his brother in a tight hug.

Gilbert stood, feeling somewhat unsure what to do with himself, not wanting to intrude on the two brother's moment, but feeling the possessive urge to grab Mathew and carry him up the stairs and away. The pale man took a deep breathe himself and just stood to the side.

Ivan's raised voice broke the silence of the basement. "Yeblia, Nata, how could you do this?"

Alfred pulled back from his brother and with blue eyes much cooler than usual, the agent spoke low, "I gotta go take care of this, Mattie."

Mathew nodded and let his brother go. The room felt so different, so full, and he was beginning to fee claustrophobic with the need for outside air. Why then, would his legs not move?

Matt didn't have long to contemplate this however, because as soon as his brother had moved off toward the heated argument on the other side of the basement, He felt his legs go out from under him as he was lifted up and began to move toward the stairs leading up and out.

The blonde lay his head against his German's chest as he gave in to the heaviness in his eyelids. He let Gilbert carry him out of the basement into the lobby of the Gold Star above, and out the back door into the falling snow.

Mathew didn't care that it was cold in the slightest. The snowflakes falling down on them only helped remind him he was alive. Alive and in the arms of the man he loved. As sweet unconsciousness called to him and he happily accepted, Mathew's last thoughts were of deciding not to think about what the future held, and only the whispered words of reassurance being spoken to him in both English and German as he drifted off into the first deep sleep he'd had in two days.

As the pale German held his Canadian man close in his arms, and leaned in the backseat of the madame's ford, the agent and his Bolshevik love were still in the basement. Ivan seeing his sister in a way he had never before.

…..

The BOI agent stepped up close to his Russian beau as Ivan had his younger sister cornered.

"What did you think would happen sestra?" The broad man's violet eyes were slits of anger as he glanced to his bruised American love and back to his sister.

Natalya wouldn't meet her brother's eyes, instead she stared at the wall and appeared to be holding back angry tears. "I only ever wanted to make you happy, Vanya..."

Ivan's shoulders slumped and he stepped back a pace to look his sister over fully. "To make me happy?" His voice came soft and disbelieving as he looked at his sister and wondered what had he done to encourage her warped sense of wrong and right and that strange affection to him.

As Ivan took a step back, Alfred had stepped forward. "Make him happy, huh?" The agent crossed his arms against his chest and lifted his chin. "Why don't you just tell him you're jealous?" He continued, "That you thought you'd get me outta the way, huh?"

Natalya turned narrowed slate blue eyes to her rival. "You are not good enough for mo'ee brat." She moved dangerously toward her former captive, "I know what my Vanya wants."

"Oh yeah, you crazy dame?" the American agent continued, standing now in front of his Russian love. "You think so? 'Cause I don-"

Ivan felt as though he had been watching the exchange from afar as everything came into place in his mind. The man he loved had been kidnapped by his sister. His sister and her unnatural affection which had always scared him before now infuriated the violet eyed man who stepped forward again after seeing his Americanski's bruised jaw line, and bloodied mouth up close.

"kolkolkolkolkol..." the familiar chant was on his lips in a low whisper.

The tall Russian stepped forward to take Natalya by the shoulders. A dark aura emanating from him, Ivan shook his sister violently.

"Natalya! Ya lyoublyou Alfred! I love him!" Ivan nodded toward Alfred. "You do not love me, Nata, you do not want my happiness."

His sister opened her mouth to argue, but found her brother was not done.

Ivan continued, not allowing his delusional sister the chance to retort. "Nata, do you know what you have done? What you have done to me? What these past days have been like?" Shaking his head sadly, the brother looked deep into his sister's cool blue eyes, still glaring daggers at the man to his right. The realization hit Ivan in an instant and like ice it spread throughout his veins.

His sister had no remorse, no understanding of anyone aside from herself. Natalya didn't love him, she didn't love anyone. She only wanted, and she manipulated everyone to get the object of her wanting.

Dropping his hands from her shoulders, The pale haired Russian stepped back again and wrapped an arm around his beloved American. As he spoke to his sister again, Ivan's heart broke a bit at the words he was saying, but he knew them to be true and unavoidable.

"Natalya, you do not love me, you are incapable of such an emotion. How could you think I would ever forgive you for this?" The soldier let his words drip with the ice filling his heart as he shut his little sister out.

"But Vanya, big brother!" Natalya turned her hateful gaze from Jones and looked up to her brother in wide eyed hurt. The cut to her cheek had stopped bleeding, but had left tracks of dried blood down her face and neck.

"Nyet. Natalya." Ivan lowered his eyes as he steeled himself for what he was about to do, before raising them again to fix a hardened expression on his face. "I have only one sister. What you have done is unforgivable." He turned his back now as a strangled sound came from deep in the petite sociopath's throat.

Ivan turned fully and walked away from his little half sister, willing all the memories of their youth to stay behind him in the basement. "V grobu ya tebya vidal. You are already as the dead to me, Natalya."

With a dangerous drop to her voice, the Belarussian spoke to her brother's back, "Vanya?"

But he did not answer her. Instead Ivan turned to the man in his arm, "Derogoy, I know you have to arrest her. Pazhaloosta, call another agent. You will let her have the time to leave the country on her own first, da?"

Alfred looked back to the woman who had now sunk to the floor of the basement, twisting her long hair; clearly having a silent breakdown. "Alright," The agent agreed slowly to his Bolshevik love.

The American left his Russian's side and in seconds stood looking down on the woman who had tried to kill him and his brother; who very well could have, had she not wanted to torment them first. "Arlovskaya," Alfred began, straightening his glasses. The Belarussian made a sound as though she had smelled something particularly foul, but didn't look up to face her former captive. "Look, you get the hell out of my country, not just Chicago, I want you out. Leave and don't ever come back." He continued, "By God, if you come near my brother or me again I will see to it that you get locked up for the rest of your life. Do you understand me?"

Finally she looked up; her eyes were dry but empty and cold with anguish. She didn't say a word.

"You're so god damn lucky I don't fill you full of lead myself for what you did." Alfred leaned in and spoke seriously. "You'll have a few hours before I call you in. Take that time to get on the next plane out of here, and dont...ever...fucking...let...me...see..your...face...again."

As the last words left him, the agent turned back to his sweetheart. "Ivan, I'm sorry-" the blonde began, shrugging.

"Nyet, of course not." The Russian drew his wounded man in close under one arm again as they made their way toward the steps. Ivan, still carrying the pipe, stopped to pick up his sister's knives as Alfred retrieved his gun. Violet eyes were tinged in sorrow as Ivan looked back up, cleaning the blood from Natalya's daggers. "You have no need to apologize." He went on, pocketing the knives. "Instead, I am sorry I did not suspect her; I am sorry I did not get to you sooner mo'ee lyoubov." The tall Russian once again brought his love in close as they climbed the steps leaving the despairing Natalya behind surrounded by her dead and nearly dead men.

"Spasiba." Ivan turned to Alfred as they reached the top. "Thank you for giving her the time to leave on her own. She does not deserve it, but she is- she was, my sestra."

"I know." Agent Jones sighed into his lover's arm as they pushed the back door open together to step out into the fresh snow. "Lets just get the hell home, huh?"

Ivan spotted Gilbert leaning into the backseat of Katyusha's car, Alfred's brother fast asleep in the pale German's arms.

The capo's brother was lost deeply in thought as he held the other man in his arms. He and Mathew were about the same height, so he wasn't exactly light as a feather, but there was no way Gilbert was going to wake him; As intense crimson eyes gazed down at his sweet Canadian man, Gil knew he wouldn't get tired from carrying him, not when he was so relieved just to see the pulse beating in Mathew's neck.

As the two soldiers drew closer in the snow, the former ace leaning into the captain's arm, Gilbert stood from the madame's car and with a single nod toward agent Jones, he joined his new friends, the enemies of his brother. He spared a thought for what changes Mathew had brought to his life; he wasn't sure what would become of them. For now the pale man decided to take each day at a time and hope for the best.

The two couples made their way through the snow, each man sheltering his loved one from the driving winds. Ivan moved to share his scarf with Alfred who was filling the other two men in on what had happened, while Gilbert shifted to drape half his coat over the man in his arms, neither saw the dark haired Italian leaning against the side of a restaurant next door.

…...

_Most of the Russian wasn't new, but what was:_

_Gde: Where?_

_V grobu ya tebya vidal: basically, I'll see you in your coffin. Its like you're dead to me/ you can die for all I care._

...

Romano pulled the front of his fedora low to shield his face from both recognition and the now heavily falling snow. His stomach churned and the hot headed man felt the nails digging into the flesh of his palms as he clenched his fists inside the pockets of his dark brown wool coat.

The don's older brother had been there to report back on the outcome of the agent and his brother's abduction. Romano had expected to hear gun shots, or at least to see two body-sized bags leaving the establishment. He had not expected the madame to run out only to return with the agent's Russian lover _and_, Romano kicked the brick wall behind him as he turned and walked the opposite direction, Gilbert. "Merda!_" _the brunette exclaimed before signaling for his car waiting across the street.

Scowling darkly, the elder Vargas brother told his driver to take him to his fratello, then sitting back, he looked out at the snow falling on his city. As the blurry buildings moved across the window, the Italian watched them pass unseeing. All his attention turned inward.

_This was not good, _Romano made himself focus first on business. It would not look good at all that Gilbert had helped save a man the family had interest in seeing dead; at least out of the way, but it was extremely unlikely they would be able to persuade Jones to leave now. That Jones' brother, that puttana, was alive, meant he would be able to testify against those who had kidnapped him. No, things had gone to hell, and gone there fast.

Aside from how bad it was for the family, and how problematic it would be if it got out that the brother of Don Vargas's best capo was intimately connected with Agent Jones, what really set the tempestuous Italian's stomach to churn and his blood to boil hot was how Gil had looked at the man in his arms as he carried him. Romano recognized love in the pale German's red eyes and it had been as a slap to the face, like a bucket of ice water over his heart.

He had thought that there could be something between them, that they had so much more in common...fists still clenched at his sides, Romano drove them into the seat on either side.

'_non importa' _he thought, '_so I was wrong. 'Big fucking deal. I can get anyone in this town._'

But that was the trouble, Romano Vargas needed only flash a smile and drop his name and he could get anyone he wanted. Anyone but one particular person, and that pissed him off.

He was determined to ignore his ex's letters, each pleading that he visit Spain again. His life was here, and while he had had good times with Antonio, the Spaniard had been far to clingy and controlling for his taste. Maybe he'd give girls another shot. There had been a cute dame hanging around the dancers at the last club he and Kiku had dropped in at...Still, he'd thought he and Gilbert could have had something more than either man's usual flings.

Relaxing his fists, to clench them again as he leaned back into the seat and crossed his arms tightly across his chest, the Don's brother frowned deeper. A shadow crossed his face even as the car slowed and pulled up in front of Feliciano's building.

One thought came to Romano's mind,_ 'Fine,' _the older Vargas brother thought, '_He can have that damn Canadian if he wants him.'_' Romano stepped from the car wishing his Lancia Veta Torpedo wouldn't have stood out; he could've gotten there so much faster.

The official second in command felt the grip of his revolver under his coat as he thought, his hazelnut brown eyes darkening to walnut, _He can have that puttana, but if that agent's brother ever gets in my way I won't hesitate.' _The darker haired Vargas brother entered the building with a nod to his brother's men, mostly relatives of some sort, and strode purposefully toward the elevator.

…...

As Romano approached his little brother's floor, he noticed the two men standing outside. They weren't part of the family. If he wasn't mistaken they belonged to the Vargas' biggest rival among the five families. Standing tall, his chin in the air, coat unbuttoned to expose the steel of his weapon, Romano walked past the two taller men without a glance.

Immediately he recognized his brother's voice. Feliciano rarely, very, very, rarely raised his voice. But it was raised now, as was the other man's.

_Giovanni, the other young don, the one they had to watch. The one they had to keep in his place._

Romano didn't even bother to knock as he walked into his brother's office.

…..

Feliciano stood behind his desk, palms to the polished wood. He glanced once toward his brother as Romano entered. "Veh! How about you let me worry about that?" Don Vargas frowned across as the other man, only ten years his elder.

The taller man stood as well, seeming to relish the height discrepancy between himself and his younger, shorter, superior. "Oh, like you worry about that Belarussian?" The darker haired man pulled on the cuffs of his dress shirt and dusted his sleeve before leaning on the boss's desk, inches from Feliciano's face.

The petite mafioso's eyes were open fully and he glared across the table, looking in that instant much more like the tempestuous brother now walking around to stand beside him.

Giovanni continued, "I won't have this Brit making money in my part of town without getting a cut."

Feliciano leaned back, his arms now crossed against his chest. He may be smaller, and younger, but he'd been raised by the notorious Rome Vargas; he could say his name anywhere in the old country and no one would dare to argue with him. He simply had to make his rival understand that. "Your part of town in still _in my town,_ Giovanni. Don't forget it, veh?" His slight sigh at the end was accompanied by his use of carefully taught body language. The young don leaned one arm back on his desk as the other hand brushed his jacket back on its way to his pants pocket, nonchalantly showing off his weaponry.

The older man stepped back as well. placing his hands now on the plush chair in front of the boss's desk. His face split into a sneer as he looked to the two brothers equally. "You've barely done a thing about that Natalya Arlovskaya, and she's just a woman..."

Before Feliciano could stop him, Romano had gone around the desk to face the other man. His nose now centimeters from their rival's, Feli's hot headed older brother opened his mouth.

"Hardly nothing! I did-a not stand outside in-a the snow all morning for-a nothing!"

"Hmm?" The other Italian raised one eyebrow. The young mafioso looked to his brother as well before turning back to the other man. "Veh, Arlovskaya's deal with the agent has apparently soured. It appears she was the one to take his brother from Roderich and Elizabeta. I got a call yesterday that she had Jones as well and intends to kill him." Giovanni looked impressed, as though maybe he had been wrong about Feliciano's leadership capabilities.

The petite mafioso turned to his brother who had moved back to his side. "And?" Feliciano prompted.

Romano colored bright red; thinking that he should not have even brought it up due to his lack of good news. "I would rather say in-a private." The older brother spoke low to the younger.

Giovanni laughed, "Oh, messed things up again, have you, Romano?" The taller man continued to laugh across the table as Feliciano stood stock still. The young don really hoped his brother had not done something rash again. "Fratello-" Feli began to tell Romano to wait outside while he finished the 'conversation' with the other man, but didn't get far at all.

His impetuous brother had stepped up and leaned across the table. "It's not-a my fault if they got-a rescued is it? You think-a I was-a not surprised to see Gilbert show up with that-a God damn Bolshevik and-a spring 'em?" The words were out of his mouth before he had even realized what he had said. This was really something for a discrete conversation with his brother alone.

Feliciano was thinking along the same lines as he turned to face his brother fully. "Veh~ Cosa?" The cultivated Don Vargas persona had slipped away, and for a second he was only Feliciano. This was exactly what he had feared.

And just as he had knew he would, the rival, Giovanni leaned in, "Gilbert? You don't mean Beilschmidt, the German who runs the Roost?"

When his question was answered with silence the other Italian prodded on, "Isn't he the brother of that favorite capo of yours? Well, you'll of course be putting out a hit?" The taller Italian laughed then, and without even an attempt to disguise his intentions he leaned across to his boss. "It would be a shame if anyone told that German friend of yours wouldn't it?"

Feliciano felt his face instantly flush pink and couldn't control it. He hoped his anger would cover for the blush as he quickly became the boss again. Crossing his arms once more, the petite mafioso spoke clearly. "There will be no move against Gilbert Beilschmidt. Veh, leave it."

The don heard his brother exhale the breathe he had been holding as the rival stepped back and looked at the two brothers suspiciously. "What's this? Don Vargas does not have what it takes? Playing favorites?"

"Get out of here Giovanni, before I have you thrown out." Feliciano had had enough. Channeling all the bravado and quiet intimidation he had been taught, the petite man walked around to his office door, holding it open wide for the other man. Romano folded his arms and stood next to his brother fuming.

Feliciano was pleased to see that the other man still walked with a limp and commented on this as he passed the doorway. "How is that knee, Giovanni?" The slight boss was sure to smile as he smoothly put his rival in his place.

The other Italian turned sharply, clearly not fearing his boss enough. "You better do something about Jones and Arlovskaya, and do it soon or you'll find yourself reunited with that cousin of yours." The slightly older man's face was inches from Feliciano's, and no one could have missed the threat.

The petite Italian drew back and began to retort, but his brother was there first. "Vaffanculo!" Romano bit his thumb, flicking it at the other man. "Do you forget-a who you are fucking talking to?"

The older man stepped closer to Feliciano's angry brother. "I know who I'm talking to." Giovanni rested both hands on his hips, displaying his own firearm to the other two men, none openly threatening, but each man displaying his ability to take the other out.

The man who had been born and raised in Chicago glared at the two brothers. He didn't have to say a word to express the sentiment Feliciano knew some in the five families shared; that the old world had no business in the new. It had been a problem for his deposed cousin and one he intended to crush.

As the three men stood staring at one another, none backing down, Feliciano to one side of his desk, Romano to the other, and their rival at the door to the mafioso's office, the sound of the main door opening and closing in the living area sounded and two sets of foot steps moved across the floor toward them.

"Vhat is this?" The tall German capo stood in the doorway, his Japanese friend beside him. Though the blood rushed through him protectively and Ludwig felt an instant desire to forcibly remove the clearly offending man from his love's office, the blonde remembered himself and the hierarchy of the business he was in.

Controlling his emotions expertly, the German capo stood to the side of the door. "Signore?" Ludwig smoothly addressed his petite Italian officially while he glared icily to the other man with his hand on the doorknob.

Apparently Giovanni didn't need a repeat visit from the boss's ruthless capo. He threw the door fully open, and as it banged against the wall, Feliciano's rival strode through the door, nearly hiding the limp. "Arrivederci, Signore Vargas."

No one missed the sneer on the other man's lips, or the way he pushed past the two men in the doorway.

Kiku moved ahead of Ludwig into the room, while the taller man closed the door before crossing the space to his petite man.

The yakuza nodded to his Italian friends and waited patiently to find out what had just happened.

"Feli, vhat vas that about?" the tall blonde went to the slight brunette's side as Feliciano flopped into his seat, sighing.

"Veh~ Ludwig," Caramel eyes looked up into azure. "Have you had any luck talking with your brother?" Feliciano swiveled in his chair to take his German man's hand even as the Italian's older brother scoffed and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall.

"Nein, Feli." Ludwig shook his head, feeling the failure weigh heavily on his shoulders. "He has not been home and he has not gone to vork at the Roost since," Ludwig glanced once toward Romano before his gaze returned to Feliciano, "since Jones' brother's disappearance."

Feliciano sighed again heavily. "Veh~" The petite mafioso swallowed hard, he had to tell his love that Gilbert had chosen a side.

"Well, veh..." Feliciano looked out the window behind his desk at the falling snow. "You know how we had Romano watch the Gold Star so we would know what happened?"

"Ja..." The tall blonde stood completely still. Ludwig could tell from his petite man's expression that the news was not good. "Ja, vhat happened, Feli?"

"Um, well, veh~ Mio amore..."

Beginning to feel truly alarmed now, as his love normally did not have such a hard time expressing himself, the capo moved in front of his boss, leaning down, the German brushed his free hand along the slight Italian's arm. "Feliciano, tell me vhat happened!"

Feliciano leaned into the hand on his arm. "Veh," he sighed. "Your fratello..."

But the mafioso's brother had been pacing back and forth, dealing with the troubles in his own conflicted heart, and deciding his little brother was taking too long, Romano slammed his hands down on Feliciano's desk. "Merda!" He shouted. "That-a bastardo! He showed up with-a that Russian and rescued the agent and his-a puttana brother!" Romano was fuming and just as before, anger was his preferred way of dealing with the problem in which he found himself.

"Vhat?" _Gott verdammt, this was exactly what he had worried about._ Ludwig knew now that Jones was alive their problems were compounded. Now, he would be more difficult to persuade, and the luck he and Feliciano had seemed to have yesterday had trickled away to nothing.

What was worse, and what made the strong capo go silent as he stood, blue eyes looking down at his Italian love as Feliciano turned from the window to look up at him was that it seemed Gil was inextricably involved with Agent Jones now. He had rescued him. "Gott Verdammnt." Ludwig repeated the thought outloud. He had so hoped Arlovskaya would take care of Jones for them, and things could eventually go back to normal his love and his brother...

"Tell me everything that happened." Ludwig repeated as he stepped away only to drag the seat from across the desk to where he had stood beside the seated mafioso. He say across from his petite love and took the brunette's smaller hands in his again as he continued, "und what you plan to do." The broad blonde whispered for just his lover's ears, hoping to see Feliciano's caramel eyes less worried, "Mein Liebe, you know I vill stand by you; vhat do you need me to do?"

Of course, the promise to not order a hit on his older brother caused as much anxiety as it relieved. Ludwig couldn't help but wonder how his Feli could get around that now and still hold the respect of the other families.

The German capo's face was impassive as together the two Vargas brothers explained what had happened.

Beneath his stoic exterior however, Ludwig's heart clenched and plummeted as Romano described his brother's part in the rescue. How Gil had carried the other man, and had been easily friendly with the Russian and even with Jones himself.

"Mein bruder, vhy did you not listen to me?" The blonde spoke under his breathe to himself thinking how all this could have been avoided if Gilbert had only stayed away from that Mathew Williams. Of course, the way Feliciano's brother relayed the information did not go unnoticed either.

As the older brother finished retelling the events as he had seen and heard them from outside the brothel, Romano leaned back against the wall next to Kiku who had been quietly watching his friend's flailing, expressive arms and scowling face each time he brought up the pale German bartender.

"And then this-a fucking stronzo Giovanni.." Romano began, but trailed off as Feliciano spoke up. The older brother crossed his arms and let the younger take over as Romano continued a stream of insults aimed at the head of the rival family.

If Ludwig's heart had cooled and plummeted knowing his brother to be lost to him, in love with the brother of the agent and therefore, so tightly wound in with his enemies, the organ sped up and beat against his chest in protective rage as his Italian love spoke softly describing the confrontation with his rival.

"Veh~ Ludwig," The German capo's boss and lover looked to him from beneath dark lashes. "We need to send him a message...I think a visit to his nephew Lorenzo should remind him who is in charge?" Feliciano leaned forward; one elbow on his desk. As his blue eyed love nodded grimly, the petite mafioso moved his foot to brush lightly against that of his capo's as he turned his attention to his brother and back to the problem with the federal agent.

"Romano," Feliciano began worriedly, feeling sure he would rather trust the job to anyone but his hot tempered brother, "There is no other choice now, We need Jones to dissapear. I don't want any witnesses, no mess, Veh~" The mafioso sighed, he had so hoped to simply get the agent to skip town, now things proved to become much more complicated with such a high profile target as the BOI's top man from D.C...

Feliciano continued, "I don't want Jones killed during Advent...wait until after Christmas." The young mafioso went on, feeling his German love's hand at the small of his back bolstering his resolve. "Make sure Gilbert is not around, leave no witnesses and, veh~," the petite Italian sighed, "don't make it messy, just kill him and don't leave evidence...alright, fratello?"

The darker haired brother nodded and replied, "No one thinks I can-a do anything right! Of course I'll take care of that-a damn agent Jones so that-a no one will ever find a trace of him."

The young boss really wanted to have more faith in his brother, so he smiled widely and gave Romano the benefit of the doubt. All Feliciano really wanted to do was call up some spaghetti bolognese and relax with his handsome capo.

However, it looked as though he wasn't going to get that late lunch...

As it had done all morning, the phone interrupted his daydream. The business owner who owed him a favour had arrived early.

The boss told his made man on the other end of the phone to have the man wait, that he would see him at the time he had originally set.

The mafioso hung up the receiver with a pout. He hated days like this, all work, all day long. Sighing, Feliciano turned sad caramel eyes up to the blonde man beside him as he leaned across the seat into his love's broad shoulders. "Veh~ Ludwig, we won't get to have lunch today will we?"

The capo blushed, still uncomfortable with expressing his emotions in front of others; even if they already knew about he and Feliciano, Ludwig would prefer to keep some things private.

The tall German stood from his seat, and willing his suddenly flushed cheeks to return to their natural color, Ludwig moved his hand from where it had rested hidden behind his petite love's back. Had they been alone, he would've pulled Feliciano close to him, ran his fingers through mahogany locks, twirled the sensitive curl.

But the capo was all too aware of the boss's brother's eyes watching his movements; aware of his reserved friend beside Romano as Kiku glanced around the room, clearly uncomfortable. Ludwig's hand rested still instead on Feliciano's shoulder as the mafioso had stood as well.

"You have vork to do," he started, fighting the urge to run his hand up to cup Feli's smooth cheek, now so close as the brunette had tilted his head toward the large hand on his shoulder. clearing his throat and feeling no decrease in the heat climbing up his face and neck, Ludwig continued, "und so do I," He spoke darkly, blue eyes sure and focused. "I vill make sure the other four do not forget that your family is in charge, mein liebe." The capo's words were quiet and serious.

"Grazie amore mio," Feliciano smiled happily up at the taller man. His love's intensity could be a bit frightening, but it was always directed toward anyone who dared to move against him and his family. The petite boss's heart fluttered at the fierce ardor in beloved sky blue eyes; where others would've chilled, it made his blood heat with passion. Why did the day to day troubles of his business have to keep them apart? Why did the world's conventions force their love inside when Feliciano wanted to wear it on his sleeve, out in public for all to see?

"Hey!" the mafioso's older brother's voice broke through the minutes that had felt like only a second for the boss and his devoted capo standing behind the desk.

"You're not-a fucking going without me, you damn potato eater! That-a bastardo cannot-a talk to mia famiglia that-a way!" Romano stood close now, his arms crossed tightly against his chest, legs planted squarely. He needed something to clear his mind. For all his hatred of Germans during the war his grandfather hadn't allowed him to join, for all that Ludwig infuriated him, Romano hadn't thought of the capo's older brother that way; he'd really thought they could've had a good time together and now the Don's angry brother needed something to clear his mind.

The focus required on this job would be welcome. To take his anger out on someone else, that was exactly what the darker haired brother needed. Romano drew the keys from his pocket, glad his car had been left at his brother's place earlier that morning when they had met. "Come on, we'll take-a my Torpedo, nothing can go as fast!"

Ludwig dropped his hand from Feliciano's shoulder, fingers brushing along the silk sleeve rolled up to the elbow and then along his love's warm, slender forearm on the way to his own pocket and the keys to the more reliable German built Audi. "Ja, if you vant to speed right off a bridge und into the river."

Romano looked mutinous. His energy barely contained, he needed to be behind the wheel, in control of something. "Just-a because it'd be too much-a for you to handle," The older Italian rolled his eyes, turning the keys in his palm.

The tall blonde just looked down at the stubborn brunette incredulousely. "You vere just outside! How can you think a convertible made for summer driving in Italy vould be a good idea?" Ludwig gestured out the window at the thick layer of snow topping the skyskrapers along the horizon. Aside from the obvious superiority of his German engineered Audi, Ludwig had ridden once with Romano behind the wheel. He would not do it again.

"Veh~" Feliciano sighed as his eyes flicked between his brother and the man he loved. Would the two ever agree on anything? Well, at least the could usually work together where his business was concerned. "Kiku, you'll go too, right?" The petite boss smiled at the Japanese man who could somehow get along with both..

Luckily it was their common friend who preempted any further argument. Kiku knew both to be unyielding when it came to their cars, the only two in the mafia who always preferred to drive themselves rather than be chauffeured. The thoughtful Japanese mobster nodded. "Hai, of course." Kiku stepped forward, and spoke diplomatically to both his friends.

"Ludwig-kun," He turned first to the German, "The Topedo is a very fast car, and I know Romano-kun only desires to get the job done as quickly as he can, but..." The composed yakuza faced the furious Italian, "Romano-kun, maybe the weather is not the best for your car, the Audi might be better on the ice."

"Alright, alright! porca vacca!" Romano threw up his arms. "Come on then Kiku, lets-a go down to the garage." dark hazelnut eyes rolled again as the mafioso's older brother turned back to Feliciano and Ludwig standing beside him. "_Ve'll vait-a _for you." Romano mocked his brother's German lover even with his own thick Italian accent.

Laughing hard at the capo's tightly knit brows, the expressive older brother dropped an arm around his japanese friend's shoulders and steered the shy mobster out the door and down the hall.

Feliciano laughed lightly as he wasted no time in looping his arms high around Ludwig's neck. The slight Italian stepped up on his tip toes to taste his strong capo's lips.

The blonde's brows unknit; now that they were alone he was free to enclose his slender boss in his arms. Releasing the emotions he had been holding in, Ludwig held Feliciano close as he had wanted to, lifting the lighter man off his feet. With one arm wrapped around his petite love's back, the other ran up into smooth mahogany locks, his fingers finding the much loved curl.

"Veh~" Feliciano sighed into the kiss, wishing the hour was later, wishing no one was waiting for him downstairs.

Ludwig's emotions were tumultuous though no one would have known as he held his beloved in the tight embrace. The German's tongue passed the Italian's soft lips and his heart raced at the sigh he felt as his Feli melted in his arms.

When finally they broke from the kiss, the petite mafioso sliding down his capo's broad chest, playfully twisting his tall man's tie in his fingers, as Ludwig looked down into his love's half opened eyes.

The intensity was still present, though now Feliciano recognized something softly determined in the impassioned gaze.

"Danke, Feli." Ludwig's hands were clasped together now at the small of his love's slender back. The feelings of gratitude that no hit would go out against his brother, though by all rights it should have; the pain he felt in his chest at the knowledge of the risk that choice brought when respect and fear were so easily lost; the protective anger that filled his heart at the thought of anyone threatening his Feliciano. These were the emotions roiling beneath the capo's stoic exterior, only escaping involuntarily from his eyes.

Ludwig continued, peering down to where Feliciano rested his chin against his chest. "I apologize for my bruder, Feli." Ludwig's grip tightened as he went on, "If Gilbert had not fallen for Jones's brother..." The blonde shook his head, one strand of carefully combed hair coming undone.

Ludwig's voice rose and a look of anguish passed across his face."I am so sorry he did not listen to me vhen I told him to stay avay!"

Feliciano's eyes opened wide; he slid his hands down from his tall man's tie and past his waist, to slip into Ludwig's pockets, pulling them even closer together. The mafioso turned his head to lay his ear against his love's chest. He could hear the strong heartbeat that continued to race and hurried to put his man at ease.

"Veh~ amore mio, I told you, it's not your fault." Feliciano closed his eyes as he sighed, "Veh~ No one can control who they fall in love with."

Ludwig couldn't help the chuckle at his love's words. "Ja, Feli. That is true, hm?" The tall German leaned down to kiss the top of his Italian's head only to have the mafioso surprise his capo as he moved back and stepped up on his toes bringing their lips into contact again.

Smiling widely, Feliciano was happy to see the surprised blush on his strong man's face as he settled his heels back to the floor.

"Si!" The petite brunette continued to smile pulling his hands from the blonde's pockets to lace his fingers between Ludwig's. "So I don't take what Gilbert did personally, veh~" The mafioso sighed, his smile fading a fraction as he stepped backward and sat on his desk. "I hope he does not think I do. I value your fratello's friendship...I hope that Canadian isn't there when Romano takes out Jones; It really is not personal." The slender Italian sighed again as he shrugged. "Veh, but if he is there..."

The boss pulled his capo in toward him by the hand and looping his legs around muscular calves he reached his arms around the broad chest to pull his German love in as close as he could. "I don't want our business to split you and Gilbert apart." Feliciano went on, looking up at his serious love again. "Brothers." The mafioso shook his head. "Romano is so hot headed and impulsive and he always gets himself in trouble! Veh, but he is is my brother...and I used to look up to him."

The brunette moved his arms up his capo's back to play with the little blonde hairs at the back of Ludwig's neck. Feliciano knew his love was close to his brother and would feel the same; even if Gilbert was Ludwig's opposite in many ways; he remembered how glad the two had been to reunite in Spain those years ago.

Ludwig, always so composed, now returned Feliciano's open expression with his own, but only for a second before he shut his worries up inside; worries that unlike the petite man in his arms, Gilbert had not been raised in the world of the mafia where murders could be "nothing personal" The German capo knew how his older brother would react were anything to happen to the man he loved.

He knew because Ludwig was the same. He would do anything for his Feliciano, and though, as the slender boss who's legs were now wrapped around the back of his capo's knees had said, Gil was flippant where he was serious, was indecently open about his sexual escapades, and far, far too egotistic, Ludwig knew his older brother shared his possessive, obsessively protective, and fatalistic traits as well.

He knew as long as Gilbert loved this Mathew, and as long as Mathew's brother was a federal agent who's sole reason for being transferred to Chicago was to take down Feliciano's organization, relations with his brother would be strained at best.

These worries weighed on his mind so that Ludwig didn't notice his love's legs wrapped around his own as they moved up to the back of his thighs while the petite mafioso sat on his desk and leaned into the capo's chest.

Suddenly feeling his blood rushing through him, breathe stopping in his throat, Ludwig became aware of just how close his hips were to his lover's as Feliciano sighed into his chest. "Veh~ I wish you didn't have to go already, I wish we had nothing to do today!"

"But I do have to go Feli," The capo managed to wrest back the hold on his desires only through extreme will power and the impracticality of thinking they could get away with anything else at this early hour when so many had claims on the Don's time.

"Veh~ I know," the brunettte smiled up easily at the blonde, "You work so hard for me!"

Then, ensuring there was nothing between them but the fabric of each man's suits, Feliciano scooted forward and leaned his head into Ludwig's broad shoulder. "But we will have dinner when you're done with the job, si?" The boss asked in a whisper.

"Ja, of course, Feli. Should I bring something back again?" Ludwig reluctantly pulled away from his Italian love wrapped so completely around him.

"No,no, you have so much more to do; I'll call it in when you get back!" Feliciano slowly let go as his devoted man prepared to leave, to go out and send a message to the latest who dared to threaten his position.

As Ludwig reached for the door, he turned back toward Feliciano only to find the smaller Italian had already slid from the desk and rushed to him silently on the plush carpet. Throwing his arms up around his love's neck, the man feared across Chicago stood on tip toes to lay a kiss on his hard working capo's cheek and whisper in his ear, "Bitte, hurry mein Liebe?"

It took all of the will power Ludwig could summon to keep one hand on the knob behind him. The other had instantly encircled the boss's petite back and wondering how it was that no sound could compare to that of Feliciano pronouncing those German words in his soft Italian accent, Ludwig pulled his love up close to take sweet lips with his own again, before lowering his Feli to the ground and remembering what he was supposed to be doing.

Ludwig brought one hand up to cup the smaller man's cheek, "I vill return as soon as I have made sure no one vill make a move against you again, meine Liebe."

With that, the capo opened the door behind him and hurried to meet the other two men waiting by the car so many floors below. It was with an extreme effort that Ludwig kept his thoughts focused on the job at hand instead of the man he'd just left. But the more he thought about the consequences any lapse in vigilance would bring, the easier it was to shut out the still turbulent emotions swirling in his heart.

As he hurried down the steps, Ludwig thought of the rivals to his Feli's position, what had happened to the last Vargas in his place, and how very tenuous a hold the don had at any time.

Respect had to be maintained, and through intimidation and fear.

Ludwig pushed both the desire for his caramel eyed love as well as the worry over his brother away, to the back of his mind to be dealt with later. For now, the nephew being groomed by Feliciano's most dangerous rival would have his undivided attention.

….

As Ludwig was joining Romano and Kiku in the garage below the building, Feliciano was awaiting the man now on his way up to pay back the debt owed. While he waited, the petite boss flipped through the German phrasebook he now kept in a drawer of his desk. The Italian was determined to see his handsome capo lose his composure again.

...

_Merda = shit_

'_non importa = not important' _

_Cosa?= what?_

_Vaffanculo! = go fuck yourself or fuck you_

_stronzo =asshole_

_porca vacca = pig cow, like "damnit!" in its use_

_..._

As the mafioso put away the phrasebook for a time to deal with the business of his position, and as his love left with his friend and his brother to see to it that he keep that position, just a bit furher downtown, the federal agent and his brother were just making it home, aided by the men they loved.

The four men made their way up the stairs to Alfred's apartment heedless to neighbors and what they might think. The two former soldiers climbed ahead of the bartender who carried the history professor in his arms. Ivan's arm wrapped around Alfred's waist in support.

"Derogoy, you are sure you can walk?" The taller Russian asked for the fifth time as he leaned in toward his love.

Alfred replied without looking up as he concentrated on the steps in front of him. "Yes Vanya." Realizing he sounded exasperated the blonde looked up, smiling. "But thank you."

As his brother was pulled closer by his Russian beau and the two continued to the door, Mathew sighed and closing tired eyes, he leaned into Gilbert's chest. The German's heartbeat was comforting and as he listened to it Matt could nearly block out the images of his time in the basement of the Gold Star

_That dark basement…_

_That woman..._

_The ropes that had held him to the chair…_

_His brother…_

_Oh god, and the gun…_

Mathew scrunched his eyes closed tighter. He focused on the rhythm of Gilbert's heartbeat and managed a weak smile.

_The sound of the wooden door shattering…_

_The sight of Gil standing beside Ivan…_

_Crimson eyes…_

_The feeling of sweet relief…_

The Canadian only opened his eyes when he felt himself being lowered to the sofa. The pale German looked him over with an indiscernible expression. Something akin to concern mingled with confusion and then dawning understanding.

Gilbert sat down beside Mathew and reached an arm around his shoulders to pull him in closer. The exhausted blonde had only just laid his head down when he lifted it again and turned toward his brother and Ivan standing just in front of the hallway.

"Vanya, really – I just need to straighten up and then I have to work, and deal with this." Alfred stood determinedly with his arms crossed in front of the broad shouldered Russian who stood in his way to the hall.

"Nyet. You need rest. You will rest." Ivan crossed his arms mirroring the American's stance.

"No."

"Da."

"I need to work."

"You need to rest."

"But, I'm just fine," Alfred's sentence was interrupted by a sudden yawn. He quickly tried to continue without his stubborn lover noticing.

"I was only there for a short time, Mattie needs rest; I need to go explain my absense and file a report on this!"

Ivan opened his mouth to retort, but before he cold get a word out, Gilbert sat up and gesturing wildly turned to Alfred. "By the great Fritz! You've just been kidnapped, drugged, beaten, and seen- well," He paused, pulling Mathew close to him again. "You've pulled a trigger against your own temple, and nearly seen your brother do the same! I have to agree with the Ruski – go. Go lay down!" _And leave us alone_ He ended his thought unsaid.

Maybe it was the previously distrusted German's words, or more likely his own brother's as Mathew spoke up quietly.

"Al, go. You really do need rest; that bruise on your jaw looks terrible."

But in the end it was the hurt in Ivan's violet eyes, suddenly so close to his own, as the other man had closed the distance between them and held Alfred so close their noses nearly touched.

"I know you are strong, mo'ee Amerikanski; mo'ee muzhik. But I nearly lost you; I will not let you go."

Alfred pulled back slightly and looked sheepishly around the room, running a hand through tangled golden locks.

The Russian, seeing that his headstrong man was actually considering what was obvious to him, took his chance. Ivan closed the distance between them again; he grabbed hold of Alfred's hand with one of his own, and gently lifted the bruised jaw with the other.

"I love you."

The American agent allowed his Russian love to pull him into a tight embrace. Alfred sighed in resignation.

"Alright...You know I love you too…"

Clearly the blonde intended to keep the moment private as he leaned up into the slightly taller man's shoulder and whispered. "But say it, you know, your way."

Ivan chuckled, his violet eyes lighter. A small smile played about the Russian's lips as he spoke low and steered his American lover into the hallway. " Ya Lyoublyou Tebya."

As one couple disappeared into the bedroom, the other sat on the sofa, Gilbert still holding onto Mathew struggling with his inner thoughts.

He had been seeing this man for nearly two weeks and he hadn't strayed; and it hadn't been because he hadn't had the chance. The singer at the Roost, Francis, had been very clear in his flirtation, as had dozens of men and women at the bar; normally he would've taken the attractive Frenchman up on his offer… The truth was he hadn't wanted anyone but the man now in his arms.

And they hadn't even slept together. This was definitely a first.

As Mathew drifted off to sleep in his arms, the pale German leaned his head against the wall behind the sofa. He closed deep red eyes clouded by the realization practically yelling itself at him inside his mind.

Gilbert gulped and steadied his heart which was suddenly beating much faster than normal. He spoke aloud to himself, "Face it. It had to happen sometime; You're just that awesome."

His eyes still closed, he lifted his head up from against the wall behind him and rested it on Mathew's golden waves. The exchange between his Mathew's brother and the Russian who had become sort of a friend over the last day and a half had solidified his decision. It was as he had said to his brother without even thinking, just two days ago.

"Ich Leibe Dich." Gilbert whispered; finding it hard to breathe as the words left his lips.

At least Mathew was asleep, he thought to himself.

But as the young professor moved his head from Gilbert's chest, the German's eyes flew open. _Scheiße, he was awake?_

Wide blue violet eyes gazed into crimson and Mathew brushed the stray curl from his face. "You do?"

Though his heart was pounding at the words of commitment he had just spoken and privately he was terrified of not hearing them in return, Gilbert replied with his usual exuberance.

"Of course! You're all I think about! For you I've seriously pissed off my bruder and his lover-boy boss, who probably wants me dead now, you know! Not to mention getting slashed by that Russian's crazy sister!" Gilbert leapt up and straddled Mathew's lap as he continued, "But I don't care! You're..." The German suddenly stopped and leaned in close capturing the stunned Canadian's lips passionately. His tongue passed Matt's lips and Gilbert tried to put all the feelings that had been roiling beneath the surface since their first meeting into his kiss.

When they broke for air, Gilbert finished his sentence, still not giving the object of his affection a word in edgewise. "You're perfect and I love you and I don't care if you don't feel the same way!" _Mein Gott that last bit was a lie…_

"I do! I love you too Gilbert!" Mathew replied, throwing his arms up to bring the other man back in for another kiss. Though he was exhausted and the rope burns on his wrists stung horribly, and the bruise to his left side where he fell onto the hard tile floor of the Hungarian woman's kitchen pained him with each breathe he drew in, Mathew's kiss matched his German love's in intensity.

When they broke apart the Canadian shifted to lay a soft kiss against the gash in Gilbert's right sleeve that lay over the wound beneath. He then rested his head against his love's chest and spoke seriously.

"Gil, I thought I would die in that basement. I thought…" Mathew's voice broke as the image of his ridiculous, brave brother with the gun held to his head flashed across his mind. "I thought I would lose everything. I never thought I'd see you again."

He looked back up into the pale face flushed with color. "And then there you were. You saved me."

A peaceful silence hung between them; Mathew's arms still wrapped around Gilbert's neck, the German's hands at the Canadian's hips.

Finally Mathew spoke again. "You were there and you saved me, and we aren't even…I mean we haven't…and I know..." A blush crept across the blonde's face as he looked down and continued. "I knew I loved you that day…when we parted in front of the stadium, before…"

Still looking down, finding his eyes drawn to the silver buckle on his love's belt, Mathew went on. "Je t'aime, Gilbert. Ich liebe dich auch."

The crimson eyed German leapt up from his Canadian love's lap and scooping the surprised man into his arms, he quickly crossed the space to the hall and kicked the door open to Alfred's bedroom.

The Russian didn't even turn his violet eyes toward them, but went on lifting the agent's other leg onto his shoulder and continued kissing along Alfred's bare chest.

This wasn't the case for the blonde beneath him on the bed however, and as Gilbert began to laugh heartily, and Mathew tactfully buried his face, Alfred reached to throw the blankets over them and his bright blue eyes squinted toward the doorway.

"WHAT THE HELL?" He yelled out before gasping as Ivan paid no heed to the interruption.

The German finally stopped laughing and announced clearly, "I'm taking Mathew and I'll bring him back later! It's a safe place and I'll protect him!"

"LIKE HELL YOU WILL!" Alfred yelled, and opened his mouth again to continue when he let out an involuntary moan. Landing a punch to his lover's shoulder, he turned his face back to Ivan's. "Really?"

The Russian shrugged and huskily responded. "Let him go mo'ee miliy." Ivan kissed along Alfred's neck and softly against the bruises along his jaw as he continued, "He has proven himself, da?"

Gilbert laughed again and turned to leave as Alfred attempted to argue, but was losing fast, his words becoming lost amidst the sounds of love.

"See you Al-" Matt called over Gilbert's shoulder as he was carried back through the apartment.

After a record breaking drive, as the German sped through the busy city streets, Mathew was again in Gilbert's arms as the pale German entered his club from a hidden door in the alley.

Immediately the tiny chick was chirping happily to see him again and flying in circles around the two men. Mathew chuckled lightly. The adorable little chick was everywhere Gilbert went.

The German shooed his little friend away, "Sorry Gilbird, you can't follow me in here."

As the little yellow ball of feathers flew up to land on one of the light fixtures along the ceiling, the pale haired man hurried along the deserted hall and nudged a door open with his foot at the end. He hoped his soon to be lover wouldn't think less of him for keeping a room at work. He had been honest about his past; at least he had always made sure it was swanky…

Gilbert lowered his beautiful Canadian onto the plush coverlet and straddling him again began to unbutton Mathew's shirt.

It didn't take him long to remove the garment entirely and throw it over his shoulder. As the shirt fell over a dresser in the corner, The German's red eyes fell onto the purplish bruise along his lover's left side.

Mathew, already nervous about his first time, had found his nerves tempered by mounting excitement as Gilbert had kissed and carried him through the building. Now, seeing the fire in the pale man's eyes cool and harden as he looked down at the bruise sent shivers along Matt's spine.

"Vie kann jemand dir veh, mein Engel?" His German growled before bringing his eyes back to Mathew's face and taking his lips in a fierce kiss again.

Gilbert cracked a lopsided grin as the heat returned to his crimson eyes and he moved to unbuckle his lover's belt. "Don't Vorry, the Awesome Gilbert is here – I'll make everything else feel so good you'll forget all about that pain!"

Matthew laughed at Gilbert's typical ego. He couldn't deny he found it a comfort after everything he'd been through. He wanted to melt into the German's fierce, protective gaze, to let it envelope him and shelter him from the memories of all he'd seen in that dank basement.

As Gilbert unfastened his belt he lay kisses on the soft flesh of Matthew's stomach. His soft white hair brushed against Matt's skin. The pale man's heart was racing erratically. It wasn't like him to be so undone but then again it wasn't like him to be so in love.

This man, this gentle blue eyed Canadian had drawn him in and reduced him to his most primal core. Matthew had charmed him with all his patience, innocence, and intelligence. He had made him love him whether Gilbert willed it or not.

Matthew had made him love him and that damned Arlovskaya had unleashed the feral presence inside of him that reared up in his heart and loomed over his love now, like a lust ridden guardian angel.

The sight of his beloved with a gun to his head and bruises all up and down his body were to blame for the way Gilbert grazed his fingers over Matthew's ribs and nipped at his stomach and hip bones. This body, this flesh and the soul it concealed, Gilbert wanted to mark it all. He wanted to stake an irrevocable claim. He wanted to devour his Matthew's innocence with his hands and to lock it away deep inside himself.

He would protect that soft smile with his life. He would take him, love him and never let him go.

He would mark him and prowl at the edges of his territory like a beast, ever ready to strike in his defense of his beloved.

Matthew blushed as Gilbert removed his shoes and slid his pants and boxers off in one swift movement. Pale hands were on him instantly covering him entirely in gentle, barely restrained touches. Matthew could feel the bound energy that flowed between them. He could feel Gilbert's need in the way his touches occasionally slipped and became too firm, too rough. He could tell his soon to be lover was being careful of his bruises but he could also tell how much Gilbert wanted to tear into him with his finger tips and to make bruises of his own.

Some other day, Matthew knew, he undoubtedly would and this knowledge caused him to tremble with desire. Gentle chills sprinkled about his body like softly falling snow.

Never, never, had he been looked at like this before. Never had he been needed like this.

The cautious professor was so much more than ready to abandon himself to the want in Gilbert's crimson eyes.

He would not regret this. He_ could_ never regret this. He was so glad to be alive, so happy to feel his own heart beat racing behind his ribs. If he had any doubts that Gilbert loved him, that he would not abandon him, they were silenced by the way Gil's own breath hitched, by the way he took Matthew's cheeks in his hands and stroked them gently, and above all by the needy, nearly crazed look in those eyes.

The emotion was there, plain and unmistakable. Matthew knew he had found the man he had been waiting for. In this bold German he had found the man who would risk all that society might bring upon them for the chance to love him long, to love him sweet, and to be by his side all the years of his life.

Years that Matthew not even an hour ago had not thought he would have either to share or to pass alone.

"Mein Liebe," Gilbert rasped as he rubbed his still clothed erection against Matthew's own hard, naked cock.

"I vill protect you, I vill always protect you. Give yourself to me." Matthew could barely hold his German's gaze for the intensity. It was frightening in the most wonderful way to see his man's emotions so raw and unguarded, so vulnerable and exposed and yet so fierce, so undeniably fierce as he continued, "und I vill keep you forever, safe und happy. I promise it."

Matthew swallowed hard, his eyes widening at the pale haired man's declaration. Today had taken him to emotional extremes he had never imagined possible. His quiet, studious life had never exposed him to such violent throws of adrenaline and he felt lost in it all, barely able to keep his head above water. It took too much to try and keep a hold on himself and so he let go. He leaned forward to capture Gilbert's lips in a soft but searing kiss.

"Ich gehöre zu dir, I am already yours."

The words did away with whatever composure Gilbert was left holding on to. He let out a low cry and lowered his head to nuzzle all along Matthews shoulders, leaving soft nips and kisses all along his clavicle. His lips followed his fingers as he made his way down Matthew's chest, rubbing against him like an animal.

The only thought in his mind was that he could have lost him, the only man he had ever loved and he could have lost him. He swore to god he would never feel that way again. He would burn heaven and raise hell if that damned Belarussian, or any other soul on earth, ever threatened his Matthew again.

His, all his completely. Someone safe to carry his heart, someone safe in whom he could hide his soul and bury his fears.

He couldn't wait to be inside of him, to feel his heat and to spill his essence within, to mark him physically in the way he had already marked his heart.

Gilbert held Matthew's jaw like a chalice and took sacrament from his lips.

Such was their bond, their soul-betrothal that he would consummate. Never, never would he let go of what he'd found and had only just stolen from death.

_'The only hands that belong on you are mine, mein engel.' _Gilbert thought to himself as he undressed and climbed atop his beloved completely exposed._ 'the bony hands of death have no business on one so pure.' _He kissed those gentle lips again, completely insatiable. '_you should never die while a wretch like me is left to live._

As Gilbert moved to retrieve the lubrication, Matthew turned his head on the soft pillow to watch him. His lover was so skilled, so experienced, so confident. He was everything Matthew was not and yet he, the shy sweater-vest wearing professor had provoked such devotion, such passion and love in the worldly man.

All those nights when Matthew dreamed of love he had never expected it to take the form of the wild crimson eyed bartender who was now coating his fingers as he bent to take Matthew's weeping cock in his mouth.

Oh the feeling of that mouth was bliss. Those hot, firm lips and that teasing tongue. The usually quiet man could not contain the gentle whimpers and moans that escaped him as Gilbert swallowed his considerable length all the way to the base of his shaft.

Mathew squirmed when he felt the first finger enter him but he had no time to spare for fear or care for pain. He was living as if in a dream. Everything that he had been through in the last few days came crashing around him and it had all culminated in this, finding himself sprawled on his back spellbound by the man above him and the muffled carnal noises he made as he fingered him and took him into his throat.

He was ready to give him anything and everything, to lay his soul out bare to be devoured by that hungry, insistent, crimson gaze.

He was so happy to be alive, so happy to be his. Mathew had fallen so low only to rise so high, unbearably high. So high he was shaken by the turbulence of the clouds and thunder that rolled in his heart and he needed, needed, his lover to pilot him through this storm. He needed him to bring him to completion, to quiet the thunderous tattoo of his heartbeat and to bring him down from this amazing and terrifying rush.

"_Bitte..bitte...mein liebe..._" He moaned hardly noticing in his lust that the single finger inside him had since progressed from one to two and then to three.

Gilbert was so unsatisfied with the pale fingers he had filling his Matthew. His wild, unnameable love demanded so much more. He would take his mate and consecrate him, he would mold them together until they became inseparable, he would bury himself inside him and hold him forever, beloved and belonging. The way his Canadian crooned those soft German words called to him like a siren song, enticing and inviting, calling him to navigate the violent and dangerous waters of their love to crash his soul on the calm and abiding rock that was his beloved, his Matthew.

He would break against him, shatter onto him like a wave, scatter into a million tiny droplets only to be mended and made anew, to ebb and flow, to rise and fall and to know that always Matthew would be there. Like a mountain beneath the sea, his discreet man appeared as little more than a single rock alone in the water but below the surface he was an impassible mountain of resolve, of fortitude and quiet strength and Gilbert loved him, oh how he loved him.

He pulled back, removing his fingers and placing himself at Matthew's entrance. Crimson eyes locked onto blue and with murmured confessions of love, he took him by the hips and pushed inside his beloved, his pale head hung low and nearly weeping with relief. Everything Gilbert thought he'd lost, he'd gained in an instant. The whimpers and cries of the man beneath him were beautiful, so beautiful.

They pushed forward without a moment's hesitation. Matthew completely disregarded the pain he felt from his first time, it was being thoroughly overridden by his adrenaline. They thrust themselves together blindly, thoughtlessly riding on emotion. The only words that passed between them were half formed oaths and broken names.

Matthew did not have the experience, the patience, or the emotional composure to hold himself in for long. "Gil -, Gilbert!" the once virgin cried as he came across his hand.

His more experienced lover needed longer to come and he continued pushing in and out of the warm, willing and spent body he held in his arms. Soon becoming completely incoherent, he growled words in his native tongue and throwing back his pale hair, he came with a guttural cry.

The rite complete, Gilbert came out of his primal haze to find Matthew trembling as his body shook with tears for the second time that day.

Matt remembered the fear of holding the gun to his head, of seeing his brother do the same, the sweet relief of that basement door busting in, and now this. The joy and sadness and terror flowing through him were too much and they burst out in the form of salty uncontrollable tears and sobs that wrenched free from his gut.

Gilbert said nothing to comfort him. He only slid down next to his love and cradled him in his arms, rocking him and making gentle shushing noises as he rubbed his back.

Gilbert would've died, he would've died if they'd been a moment later. The chilling knowledge that the bullet had been in the chamber had haunted him since Arlovskaya's missed shot.

Gilbert felt the warm tears cascading down onto his flesh as he held Matthew close, pulled tight against his chest. He renewed his vow silently to himself again and again as he placed a soft kiss on Matthew's forehead while the blond let out all his pain and relief.

_No one would ever hurt his angel again._

"Thank you..."

Gilbert was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of Matthew's voice, small and broken as he choked back the tears.

"For what, liebe?" He asked stroking Matthew's soft golden curls.

The Canadian wrapped his arms tightly around his German's waist and spoke against his chest.

"For so much...for saving me, for loving me, for finding me interesting..." He blushed and shook his head. "I'm sorry..."

"Nein," Gilbert took him under the chin and lifted his lips to his own, sealing their new union with a final, deep and loving kiss. "Don't ever be. Rest mein engel, you've been through so much."

The German pulled the covers close around them and held his beloved Canadian as he gave in to blissful sleep, finally safe, finally able to feel happiness again.

While Gilbert lay with his love, the brother of a federal agent, his thoughts were solely on the sleeping man in his arms. He meant what he had promised, what he had swore, no one would be allowed to hurt his Mathew, his angel. The pale German sincerely hoped the mafia of which his little brother was an inextricable part, would not try again.

As the hours passed and the bartender and his beloved scholar returned to Mathew's brother's place, Gilbert's own brother had been working just a few streets away from the agent's downtown apartment.

…...

_mo'ee Amerikanski; mo'ee muzhik: My American, My Man (strong connotation "MAN")_

"_Vie kann jemand dir veh, mein Engel?: How could anyone hurt you, my angel?_

"_Ich gehöre zu dir: I belong to you_

...

The sun had begun to set as mid day had come and gone in the hours that had passed since the capo had left with the boss's brother and their yakuza friend. The three men had gotten their information in the way they knew best and now passed their time in silence while they waited in Ludwig's car.

Parked in the alley just across from the theatre, they waited as the flurries of fresh snow added to that already covering the windy city in white. They waited for the young man to leave. Following a lead that the young Italian would be seeing a movie with his best girl, the three men had tailed him throughout the date and now waited for the movie to end.

Suddenly the crowd began to spill from the cinema doors, as Ludwig eased the gas pedal oh so slightly to roll forward, Romano leaned up from where he sat in the back with Kiku to point ahead through the windsheild. 'That's-a him! Right there with-a the redhead!"

The capo pulled into the flow of traffic leaving the movie and seamlessly maneuvered behind the young made man's car.

Ludwig followed a few car lengths behind as the unsuspecting man dropped his girlfriend off at her house, then stopped at a gas station to fill up.

As soon as the brunette had stepped from his car, Ludwig hit the gas and with a squeal of the tires on pavement, he pulled up alongside. Romano opened the back door and leapt from his seat. The rival's nephew reached for his gun as soon as he realized what was happening.

However, the young italian never saw the lightning fast yakuza member as Kiku took hold of the weapon as Romano pushed him toward his Japanese friend. Kiku relieved the younger man of his pistol as he pulled him into the backseat; all happening in the space of one breathe.

With cold blue eyes, Ludwig turned from the driver's seat to muffle the defiant man with a gag as Kiku secured their unwilling passenger's hands together behind his back and pushed him down into the floorboard.

As soon as their captive was secured and out of sight, Ludwig motioned to Romano who slid into the other car and turning the ignition, the Don's brother followed the capo around the corner and toward the outskirts of town.

Seeing the empty warehouse against the lapping of the river's edge, Ludwig put his car in park and calmly stepped out of the driver's seat and turned, wading through the drifts of snow to open the back door. The smaller Japanese man held the Italian down in the floorboard; though the heir to the rival family was taller than Kiku, Lorenzo stayed where he was, the sharp point of the yakuza'a kitana at the back of the made man's neck was impossible to ignore.

Kiku stepped out without a word, face set as seriously as the taller German beside him, the japanese mobster guided the captive Italian as he stood from the car, and glared at his abductors.

With the roar of an engine driven too hard, Romano slid in beside them on the icy pavement, flurries of snow flying up from the ground like dust.

Ludwig looked to either side and then taking the younger man by the collar, dragged him toward the empty warehouse that stood along the ice frosted river at the old shipyards.

The Italian struggled, as does everyone who has just become certain of their impending death.

"Stop fighting like an idiot." The tall capo spoke darkly as the trio approached the large wooden double doors. "You vill only make things vorse for yourself."

Romano strode ahead, kicking up the snow in his wake. The angry Italian threw open the doors, as Ludwig pushed the young man through roughly.

Inside the near empty warehouse was a single chair and one long folding table. A light hung from the ceiling, flickering on and off as it swung in the draft coming through the roof.

The German's heavy footfalls echoed across the cement floor as he dragged the Italian toward the chair. The rival's favored nephew swung his legs wildly; one moment trying to land a kick to either of the men around him, then dragged his feet the next, desperate to postpone whatever horrors awaited him.

Of course the attempt was a futile one.

Thinking of the importance of making a statement serious enough to silence any who opposed his Feliciano, Ludwig pushed the man into the single chair.

Standing over him, blue eyes cold as he calculated the best way to send the message, the German knew he struck an imposing figure. Flanked by the small but deadly Yakuza member to his right and the still furious Italian looking to vent his pent up rage on his left, the capo took advantage of the panic clearly recognizable in the young man's eyes.

If he played his cards right, Ludwig knew he could silence all dissent from this particular family in the future.

To the obvious surprise of the man in the chair, the tall intimidating capo removed the gag and addressed his captive frankly.

"No doubt you are vondering vhy you are here und vhat vill happen to you." Ludwig stated as he removed his long black wool coat, draping the garment on the table beside them.

Spluttering in fragments, the made man took a moment to get himself together, and then looking as though he had just reminded himself of all that his uncle had taught him, Lorenzo held his head up high, "What's Vargas thinking? You wanna anger all the families? My uncle'll see you dead for bumping me off!"

"Oh nein," Ludwig shook his head as his companions looked to the young man, Kiku, sword in hand, Romano tapping the grip of his gun longingly. "You vill not be killed. Not today."

At the suspicious look on the other man's face, the German capo continued, "Don Vargas has nothing against you. He is sure you vould do better at this business than your uncle Giovanni.

"Well then what-" The rival heir held up his bound wrists and shrugged quizzically before the Don's most notorious capo cut off the young man's words.

"Your uncle needs to remember who his boss is. You have him to thank for vhat happens to you today." Ludwig stepped closer, "You are all grown up now, ja? An adult, vith responsibilities und consequences."

"Yeah, I'm 18 - you don't gotta call my mama or anything!" The younger Italian, American born and raised, leaned forward defiantly.

Ludwig nodded as he gestured for his friend from the east. "Ya. It vas not so long ago that I vas that age. You vill be able to handle this," cool blue eyes appraised the man in the chair. "of course if vill not be easy."

As Kiku stepped forward, his kitana unsheathed, the captive's brown eyes turned to the silver gleam of the metal. The rival's nephew began to stand, but didn't get far before the stronger capo pushed him down in the chair again.

Lorenzo was panicked and in his fear of the sword's blade, and what the three men intended to do to him, the young man blurted his defiance; a shade too young for the war, he undoubtedly had older brothers, or had had them. "Back off Fritz, you and that chink friend of yours!" The made man kicked out at the two more experienced mobsters as he leaned back in the chair.

Ludwig felt his jaw tighten involuntarily, his fists clenched at his side as Kiku stared incredulously at the misidentification, but before either could react, it was Romano who moved forward in a blur. The Don's brother had been itching for any reason at all to lash out; any reason to free himself from the restless energy and anger he'd been feeling all day.

The older Italian punched the younger hard in the gut. "He is-a Japanese you testa di cazzo!" Romano defended his friend, choosing to ignore the 'Fritz' comment.

Out of breath from the blow, the made man coughed at the Don's brother, "Menefrego, Pezzo di merda!"

Romano hit the rival's heir again. Drawing back, he let all the anger he felt at his jilted affections flow into his fist.

After the third blow to the man's stomach, Don Vargas's older brother stood back, contemplating whether a fourth was called for.

Seizing the moment while the boss's older brother rubbed the knuckles of one hand against the palm of another, Ludwig brought order back to the situation.

The tall blonde stepped up closer to the Italian doubled up in the chair. Without saying a thing, only thinking of his Feli and Keeping him in his position, Ludwig walked around behind the chair and grabbed the man's right hand, splayed it out, palm down on the arm of the chair.

"You are right handed?" The German capo isolated the index finger if the young rival's right hand as he spoke.

Ludwig took the look of panic and sudden understanding that crossed the young man's face as affirmation.

"Ja, I thought so." His voice was low and serious, this would be the message he sent the man who dared to threaten his Feliciano. Ludwig would send Feli's rival the trigger finger of his nephew, the young man who was being groomed to follow in his footsteps.

Ludwig held the hand in place as Kiku stepped up close with the finely made sword. The young man squirmed in his hold and the German capo growled in his ear, tightening his hold on the man's wrist; "You can hold still und let him do it vith the sword or," he reached with the free hand to pull the switchblade from his pocket, "struggle und I vill do it myself."

The rival's nephew continued to fight against his grip, as Romano stepped closer beside Kiku. The don's older brother twirled his weapon in his hand as his Yakuza friend held deadly still.

"Consider this a reminder;" Ludwig spoke as the young Italian finally ceased his struggle. "Ve have each taken more than a finger for less, und ve vill not hestitate to kill you if necessary."

"Si." Romano nodded in a rare moment of agreement with his brother's devoted soldier.

Ludwig went on, speaking darkly into the captive's ear, "Und my friend here," He nodded toward Kiku, "You see those tattoos just peaking from his collar, ja?" At the tremulous aggreement the capo continued, "Und at the edges of the cuffs of his shirt?" The young man nodded as Ludwig gestured up and down, "My friend vill get a new mark vith each time he kills a man. He has many."

The tall blonde stood back again, his grip still holding the younger Italian's hand ready. "You vill stop moving so much now, von't you? Und be glad it is only your finger ve are taking."

Finally still, Lorenzo looked from the cold blue eyes of the man holding his wrist so securely to the two men who stood in front of him, furious Romano, twirling his steel carelessly, and enigmatic Kiku who held the gleaming sword at the ready, his expression impossible to read.

Ludwig nodded to his yakuza friend who returned a quick nod of his own before swinging his weapon down in one swoop. In one second the young made man's right hand was short one very important finger, the severed apendage falling to the cold concrete floor as the rival's heir could not help but yell out his pain.

"Do not forget, you have your uncle's behavior to thank for this." Ludwig turned to face the young man after retrieving the severed digit from the floor of the warehouse. "You vill remember that the Vargas family has been in charge for a reason vhen you take your uncle's place, von't you?"

"Don't take it-a personally." Romano chimed in as he reached into his coat to produce a pack of cigarettes."You can-a always learn to shoot with-a the left hand now." The elder Vargas brother put the cigarette between the other man's lips and lit it as Kiku released the captive's wrists after pouring a considerable amount of alcohol on the wound.

"Please do not move." The yakuza spoke politely to the mafioso in the making who had so rudely insulted him earlier. Kiku took the offered lighter and smiled slightly at the ensuing sounds of pain as he cauterized the wound.

Romano dropped the keys to the young man's car in Lorenzo's unwounded hand. "Consider yourself lucky kid." The older man continued, "And don't-a go around insulting people who are-a armed when-a you are not-a."

"Ja." Ludwig agreed, hoisting the rival's nephew up from the chair and pointing him toward the door, "Und tell your uncle not to mess vith Feliciano Vargas. If there is a next time, you vill lose much more than this."

The capo, the don's brother and the visiting yakuza watched as Lorenzo shakily started his car and drove away throught he building snow. The sun had set fully now, only a thin line of purple light glowing at the western horizon.

Ludwig looked to the time. It had been not yet noon when they had left; the time had progressed rapidly toward evening as the hour hand hovered over the five on the face of his pocket watch.

The diligent capo had put the severed finger into a box immediately and satisfied that the job had gone smootly, he placed the box in the glove compartment as the other two men joined him in the car.

Dusting the snow from his shoulders, Romano turned to his japanese friend remembering his promise to show Kiku his town, "Hey, I know a great burlesque show that-a starts in-a few minutes."

In no time, Ludwig had dropped the two off at the dance hall, and sped back toward Feliciano's penthouse. His heart light as it always was after completing a job, the blonde hummed to himself as he drove. It was only as he passed the Gold Star Hotel that the tune died in his throat.

Natalya Arlovskaya. He still owed his love a strip of the lacy hemline of that psychotic dame's skirt.

The place taunted him as he slowed in front of it. The location had held the agent and his twin up until this morning when Ludwig's own older brother had rescued them, seemingly cementing his place on the side of the federal agent. It had now been days since Ludwig had seen or heard from his hot blooded crimson eyed brother.

Putting the dissatisfaction of unfinished business and the worry for his brother to the back of his mind, the strong capo hit the gas pedal with a leaden foot and raced through the snowcovered streets, thinking instead of his petite Italian love, Feliciano's warm eyes and soft smile in his mind's eye chasing the concerns away and bringing a rosy blush to the broad man's cheeks.

...

_testa di cazzo: dickhead_

_Menefrego, Pezzo di merda!: I dont care, you piece of shit!_

...

As the capo drove toward his boss and lover, inside the brothel he had just passed, all was in chaos. The front door had remained locked all day; Katyusha had not made a dime due to her sister's violent breakdown that had been raging like a contained hurricane inside the building.

The tall blonde turned wide blue eyes to her shorter man. "Arthur, she is not going to calm down...I do not know what to do!"

The British dealer squared his shoulders; He left the desk against which he'd been leaning. Taking a long drag to finish the joint he'd been smoking as he had tried to drown up Natalya's temper tantrum since he'd arrived. Arthur had had to come in through the window of Katyusha's office; his intentions to take his statuesque bird out on the town had turned into a very different date, barricaded inside the Gold Star.

Exhaling the smoke in one long breathe, the green eyed brit strolled up to the door, or rather to the barrier of side tables, chairs, and a dresser both he and Katyusha had created to keep the crazed younger sister out, while Natalya cried for her sister's blood.

Maybe a new tactic was called for. Charm, a little honey on the words, that might get through to her. Arthur cleared his throat, he was nothing if not charming. In fact that little talent for a silvered tongue had saved his skin several times over.

_First, get her attention,_ he went through the formula in his head, _just make her stop her incessant screeching long enough to listen._

"Oi! Natalya, Belt up!" He yelled through the wall of furniture in front of the door. "Right, you can't keep carrying on like this, you'll get nothing done at all. 'Not given up on the bigger picture now have you?"

Silence greeted him from the other side of the door. Arthur turned victoriously to Katyusha who now stood beside him as he continued speaking to her sister. "There you go, stiff upper lip and all that."

Now was the time to turn on the charm.

"Now I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, but you're a determined broad aren't you?" The dealer leaned on the edge of one of the tables. "A no-nonsense dame like yourself, why, you won't take no for an answer, will you? They can't keep you down, hold you back, can they?"

Silence.

"Course they can't." The doctor went on smoothly, "Only you can do that to yourself. Don't you see how blinkered you were when it came to your brother? 'Lost sight of the goal didn't you?"

Wrapping one arm around the older sister's waist as Katyusha stood beside him, twisting her long beaded necklace in her fingers anxiously, the Brit continued. "Kat here only thought about what would happen to you; 'Knock off a federal agent and it's the chair in this country you know. No need to be so pissed off. And when it comes to that brother of yours, Its horses for courses as they say, hm?"

"It is what?" Katyusha's voice was nearly laughing though they had been barricaded in the office all day.

"Oh, right! To each his own, whats good for one, may not be for another." The brit explained the slang term to both foreign women.

He spoke loudly through the door again, "You've got to let it go Natalya. Ambitious broad like yourself, you cant let this hitch get in your way."

As he listened to the silence, Arthur was secretly as relieved as Katyusha that Jones and his brother had been alive, that his brave Kat had taken the initiative that he had been unable to, bound to the mafia as he was.

Finally from the other side of the door, a small cold voice spoke. Where before had been near unintelligable screams in high pitched, rapid Russian, there was now the slow, cool voice, speaking in English, clearly the mad dame's words were for him; Arthur listened intently.

On her end, something in Natalya Arlovskaya's mind had clicked into place. Her beloved brother had disowned her. This thought sunk like a stone in her heart. It stayed there; to cool the already cold soul. All she ever wanted was to be close to Ivan. If she couldn't have him, no one would.

But standing amidst the broken shards of once beautiful decorative objects she had thrown at her sister's door, Natalya realized no one else would understand this. That she had done everything to bring Ivan to her, to show him how much she could do,this was lost on the British dealer, and possibly on her traitorous older sister as well. No, clearly she needed to play along. Give them what they expected.

Of course, the mafia had to go anyway. Revenge had to be taken for the wounds she had gained, the scores of men she had lost. She was now without an army and it was due in large part to Vargas and his damn German capo who was always nearby. As the stone hardened in her heart, Natalya crooned back to her sister's British beau. "You are right, Kirkland; I have lost sight of my goal."

She would simply make Ivan notice her when Chicago's snowy streets were stained in the blood of her enemies. She would not just win, she would obliterate her opposition. She only needed a way to divide the families of the mafia against eachother. Of course she also needed more soldiers.

"I will need to recruit more men..." She sang into the door, her heels crunching a piece of a vase underneath with destructive satisfaction. "Katyusha, my sestra, I forgive your betrayal." She lied, of course she did not forgive her. The younger wanted her older sister to be on her side, was grateful for the base of operations she had supplied her, but she could not forgive her, not yet, not until she had brought the windy city down in blood and gotten her dear brother's attentions.

Until then she would focus on what she could do to spark her war. What she could do to split the five families into a war that she could then take advantage of. Natalya tapped against the door lightly.

She had had eyes and ears everywhere; the belarussian knew the Englishmen sold in little Italy. However he had come by that, she didn't know. Natalya only knew there was something more to Dr. Kirkland, and that she may be able to use him to her own ends.

"Can't I come in, sestra?" She crooned through the door. "Let us put this behind us and focus on the Italians..."

…...

Across town the very men Natalya intended to take down were locked in eachother's arms. The severed finger sat in it's box on a side table, further evidence of the capo's unwavering devotion, not that such evidence was needed at all.

The petite mafioso had jumped into his broad shouldered German's arms as soon as Ludwig had come through the door.

"Veh! I missed you!" Feliciano stood on tip toes, his arms looped loosely around the taller man's neck, and as his capo's strong arms encircled the petite boss, the brunette moved to rest his chin against the middle of the blonde's broad chest. The don thought hard to remember the words he had repeated over and over in between the endless meetings.

"Ich liebe dich..." Feliciano began, now comfortable with those first three words, he slowly added the rest, "von ganzem herzen."

The petite mafioso smiled up at his tall German capo. He could feel Ludwig's heartbeat pick up as it pounded in his chest. Feliciano's own heart raced happily at the blush that stole across his hard working lover's cheeks.

Feeling the heat build in his face and the back of his neck at the sound of the tender German words spoken with his beloved's soft Italian accent, the capo lifted his boss from the floor and into a deep and impassioned kiss.

The slender Italian's tongue flirted with the sure, confident German's as it filled his mouth; the two most feared criminals in the city were lost in eachother's taste, heartbeats, and quickly stolen breaths as Ludwig held his petite lover close, silently reveling in Feliciano's soft sighs each time their lips parted.

Finally sliding back down to rest his feet on the floor again, Feliciano trailed nimble fingers down the buttons of Ludwig's shirt, loosening each one as he did so. Caramel eyes were opened wide as he looked up into those of brightest blue made all the brighter by the rosy flush coloring his German's face

"Veh~ Ludwig, did I say it right?" The brunette lay a kiss to the now visible strip of his love's muscular abdomen.

"Ja," Ludwig stared down into his Feli's gaze. The capo still found it hard to believe where he was, how light his heart felt to be with the man he loved, to hold Feliciano close, and how ridiculous and tragic it was that he had taken so long to be honest with himself. The capo's devotion to his boss had always been so much more than duty, more than gratitude.

The tall blonde ran both hands through the silken mahogany locks, one finger finding the familiar curl, the other large hand combing through the don's hair before caressing the slender back, to rest finally at Feliciano's hip.

"You said it perfectly Feli." Ludwig felt the lump in his throat as he twisted the sensitive curl around his finger. "perfectly." The capo's breath grew heavier, his brow anguished as the strong man felt his desire building at the sight of his love's warm caramel eyes half closed. His heart quickened furiously as he felt Feliciano's fingers moving from where they had been untucking his shirt to now deftly free his tie.

Finding it increasingly difficult to breathe, Ludwig's grip tightened on Feliciano's hip, his thumb finding a home in the belt loop to pull the slender Italian in closer.

The petite mafioso was finding his breath coming in short uneven bursts as well as Ludwig twisted his curl around his finger ever tighter. Through half open eyes behind dark lashes the Italian looked up at his German's harried brows and piercing azure eyes as he pulled the tie from around his man's neck to let it fall at their feet.

"Veh~" Feliciano sighed fully, the blood rushing through him at the close contact with his handsome capo as Ludwig pulled their hips together by the belt loop without a word.

"amore mio, you work so hard for me," The mafioso whispered against his capo's chest, taking the open edges of the crisp white cotton in his hands. "No matter what your worries," Feliciano reached inside Ludwig's open shirt to wrap his arms around his love's chest as he continued, "You never tire; you always take care of my enemies for me."

The capo released the mafioso's curl to cup his love's chin in his hand. Ludwig bent to take Feliciano's lips with his own again. When at last they broke apart, the German still holding the smaller Italian's chin, Ludwig spoke low and seriously, each word filled with meaning. "I always vill, Feli." The words repeated themselves as Feliciano pulled back slightly, running soft hands from his love's back to rest at the tall German's belt. Ludwig spoke again, this time his words were softer, breathed from between each beat of his heart as it pounded against his chest, "Of course I vill never tire; I vill never let anything happen to you Feliciano. I svear it"

The feared crime boss sighed happily knowing his capo's words were true. Since the first time they had met, Feliciano knew he could trust his strong German with his life, with his heart; he

knew were he ever in danger, Ludwig would be there.

The petite Italian's smile was soft as he looked up from behind long lashes at the man he loved. Ludwig would always be there, indestructible, unfailing, and true. Feliciano would show his love how much he appreciated all he did for him, whether Ludwig was bringing him pasta and wine or making his opponents disappear.

The brunette stepped backward, around the coffee table to the plush sofa behind them. Don Vargas pulled his capo with him by the simple leather belt he was even now unfastening.

Feliciano turned as he held both ends of his lover's belt; the taller blonde allowing him to guide him backwards to sit on the edge of the sofa's cushions.

Ludwig felt the sweat beading along his hairline as Feliciano dropped down between his legs and leaned against the inside of his thigh. The German's heart skipped a beat as his sweet Italian man spoke again, "Ti desidero." The petite mafioso whispered more words his German didn't know but none the less understood as his fingers worked the button fly containing the physical proof of reciprocated desire. "Ho bisogno di te."

Pleased to see the intensity growing in his love's sky blue eyes, Feliciano knew he would be able to make Ludwig forget all that weighed on his mind, if only for the night.

His name was Feliciano Vargas afterall, and he always got what he wanted. Tonight what he wanted was to see his serious man lose his control, and forget his troubles.

"Veh~" The baby faced mafioso sighed appreciatively as he popped the button on his capo's crisp white boxers to free the already hardened shaft.

Ludwig's breath caught in his throat. He would never get over the sight of his petite Italian taking his cock in hand; he would never get used to the soft lips that teased him with light kisses as his lover made his way from base to tip before Feliciano's lips parted and Ludwig felt his love take him into his mouth. The warmth of that beloved mouth and the feeling of the tongue that was now moving along his hot tight flesh was heaven.

The blonde gasped as the brunette sped up and added the movements of his hand to echo those of his mouth as Feliciano took in more of his lover's ample dimensions. Ludwig felt his burning cheeks, his uneven breath and rapid, erratic heartbeat as he gazed down at his boss and lover.

Still enraptured; still amazed at his good fortune, the capo ran both hands through the boss's mahogany hair. There was the sensitive curl. Ludwig wrapped the hair around a finger and, his heart racing behind his ribs as the pleasure coursed through his body, the blue eyed man kept his gaze locked on the caramel eyes watching his movements from below.

Ludwig pulled on the curl lightly and immediately let loose a low moan as he felt Feliciano gasp and sigh around him, the caramel eyes closed, the hand gripping his shaft tightened.

The capo fought the urge to thrust into his lover's mouth as he combed his fingers through the brunette's hair. Still in awe that the most feared man in all of Chicago, the head of the infamous Vargas family, was there on his knees, for him, all his.

Ludwig couldn't take his gaze away from his beloved Italian as Feli worked, speeding up and taking more of his capo in as the mafioso swallowed his length down to the base.

Feliciano opened his eyes as he felt his jaw begin to ache and didn't care. His stoic german love was staring down at him with saphire eyes alit with barely controlled passion.

The tall blonde was losing his usually vice-like grip on his self control.

Ludwig's breath became heavy and labored, he wouldn't let go on his willpower,

He wouldn't...

...wouldn't,

He couldn't …

Suddenly realizing he was losing the internal struggle with his possesive side, demanding to come out, demanding to take charge, Ludwig gripped the mahogany locks of his lover's hair and pulled Feliciano back.

"I'm sorry mein liebe," the German gasped, catching his breath, large hands moving down to hold his boss's flushed cheeks, to caress his Feli's jaw, one finger tracing the soft, beloved lips.

"I am afraid to lose control; I do not vant to hurt you."

"Veh~" Feliciano sighed, pulling himself up, elbows resting on his capo's strong thighs. "You won't hurt me. I know you won't." The Italian smiled softly, "Take me, and love me," the mafioso sighed, running a single slender finger down his man's length, hot with need, as was his own in far too constricting slacks. "Veh~ I am all yours, meine soldaten."

That was far too much. His mind empty of all but the words his love had spoken, Ludwig reached down between his knees where his petite man knelt and lifted Feliciano in one rapid movement.

In less than a second, in a fraction of his racing heart's rapid beating, Felicano was on his back, his ever so composed man above him, leaning down with hard, burning kisses to his neck as large strong hands made fast work of the buttons of his vest, and the silk shirt beneath.

Ludwig's lips moved up from the smooth skin of his love's slender neck to find Feliciano's, and he took them in a deep and penetrative kiss. The German's heart leapt at the Italian's quick breathes and long sighs as they kissed until both men's lips were pink and swollen.

Feliciano wondered fleetingly what he had unleashed as his fingers mussed his passionate lover's blonde locks; Ludwig, having moved his fervent kisses down to the chest that housed the Italian's rapidly beating heart.

But the Italian stopped wondering and he didn't care as, still laying needy kisses and small sharp bites to his lover's chest, the blue eyed capo ripped the boss's belt from it's loops, and waged a quick and decisive war against the buttons responsible for holding the cloth barrier between them.

Patent leather wingtip shoes and cashmere socks were pulled off and flung across the room without a care from either man, deep blue pinstriped slacks, now a most hated enemy, were yanked down and thrown over one broad shoulder as Ludwig's hands gripped his beloved's hips, kissed the old scar above the heart, at the neck, and then with intense blue eyes closed tight, the soldier again found his Feli's perfect lips. Holding him close, one hand at the small of his love's back, another buried in beautiful mahogany hair, the controlled German lost his composure thoroughly, deep gutteral sounds coming from his throat to mix with the sound of his petite Italian's soft sighs as they kissed deep and long, hips moving against one another in rhythm.

Feeling Feliciano's erection against his own, hearing those soft sighs and gasps, it would have been so easy to forget himself entirely, but as Ludwig found that one of his petite man's legs had somehow found its way up to his shoulder, the blonde looked down at his beautiful, trusting man, he stopped himself from going further just yet.

Reluctantly, Ludwig moved the leg from his shoulder, he kissed softly at the space behind the knee. "Vait, Feli..." the capo spoke breathlessly to his don, "I vill be right back." Blue eyes roved hungrily over the man below him, "Don't move, stay just like this."

The tall German stood and moved quickly across to the bedroom; he pulled open the bedside table and retrieved the lubrication. His brows knit as he thought about his brother suddenly, the one who had given him this along with advice...

_Nein, don't think about that._ Ludwig told himself, instead he looked back through the doorway to the man who lay on the sofa exactly where he had left him, the sleeves of the open shirt and vest still loosely around his arms but wearing nothing more, his Feli was the image of perfection.

The capo stepped quickly back to the main room, his heart beating wildly, he undressed fully, finishing the work his petite Italian had started. He shrugged the open shirt from his shoulders, pushed down and stepped out of his slacks and crisp white boxers, kicking off his socks and shoes.

Feliciano was looking up at his fit capo, the way the indirect light of the lamps created shadows in between the defined abdominals, under the strong chin...the way the light sparkled in eyes so blue he wanted to lose himself in their ardour.

The petite Italian's heartbeat sped in his chest as his beloved and devoted man coated his fingers in lubrication and setting the container on the floor beside them, once again joined him on the sofa's soft cushions.

Postitioning himself exactly where he had been, Ludwig held his love's leg high on his shoulder and peered below into now wide warm caramel eyes. "Mein Geliebte" The German kept his gaze locked with the Italian's below him as he inserted one finger and then two into his beautiful man, so like a classic piece of art come to life in his arms, more beautiful than even Michelangelo could carve.

Feliciano gasped once then sighed, moving with the rhythm his beloved capo had set. He reached his hands up into the blonde hair, now so disheveled, and held on as he felt his man hit the spot that sent his spine to tingling and caused his toes to curl as he cried out, pressing himself down on his lover's fingers as they worked to prepare him for the larger appendage now pressed hard against the back of his thigh.

Feeling his love below him growing warmer, his tight muscles relaxing, Ludwig knew Feliciano would soon be able to handle more, slowly and carefully, he inserted a third finger.

The blonde bit his bottom lip as his lover gasped and then, one hand still clutching his hair, the other wrapped around his love's own perfect erection, Feliciano's eyes closed as he arched his back gasping out his words in between deep breathes, "Favore, per favore, il mio amore!"

Feliciano's native language danced on his tongue, the sweet melody, the cadence of his words, they were just as beautiful to the man above him as when he spoke in German.

The slender man beneath him then opened his eyes wide and dropped the hand in Ludwig's hair to run along the muscles rippling in his lover's arm as he worked, spreading his fingers now in preparation. "Oh, bitte, mein liebe."

Warm, sparkling caramel eyes were clouded with desire and seeing them fully open now as his Feli sighed and moved with him, writhing below completely undid him. The part of his soul that was primal, possessive, and dominant screamed to be let out, and there was no stopping it.

The German coated his now painfully hard erection and withdrawing his fingers, he lifted his beloved's hips and whether it was the stress he had been under lately with his brother, the elusive belarussian, or the other families, or simply the way his slender man arched and moved below him, in his arms, just for him when all the word saw only Don Vargas, but he saw Feliciano, or more likely the combination of these reasons, Ludwig didn't spare a thought to determine, as he pressed himself into his love, the man he would do anything for.

In his mind, he heard only those softy spoken German words, and that melodic Italian cry that had come before them.

Whatever it was about tonight, there was no internal barrier of will to keep his composure, to keep the reigns of self control held tight. Low moans escaped the German's lips, and coming from deep in his throat were the primal sounds somewhere between a growl and a whimper that he would have kept locked inside were he able.

One hand searched out and found his love's curl once again, while the other stayed planted firmly beside Feliciano's head, Ludwig knew his baser nature shown through his eyes as his love blushed deeply but, bringing a thrill of pleasure coursing through the German's rushing blood, Feliciano did not look away.

Both legs were lifted high over his blonde's broad shoulders, they shivered as his strong man moved his hips back and forth, pumping into him fully each time to press against the place that made him lose control and cry out in whatever language bubbled up to escape his lips in between the sighs and gasps and light moans his German love coaxed from him with his movements.

Feliciano had wanted to make his controlled man lose his composure and he had succeeded. He had wildly succeeded. Gasping out parts of his love's name, the slender Italian was transfixed by the hungry, dominant look in the piercing blue eyes above him.

The possessive fervor with which his devoted man loved him might have been frightening, but Feliciano let himself disappear into Ludwig's fierce gaze, into the sounds his love expressed as they moved together, lips meeting between shallow breaths, warm caramel brown eyes never wavering from those of bright sky blue.

His toes curling, legs clamped tight to his strong man's shoulders, Feliciano felt himself unable to hold on any longer and amidst his broken cries of "Ve~Lud...Ludwi..mio Dio!" he came hot and uncontrollable over his hand between them as his broad German leaned low to swallow his cries with a kiss.

That his petite man had not looked away, not shied from the unyeilding gaze Ludwig was powerless to keep from his eyes had only spurred his desire on, never, _never _before in his life had he let go of his self control so fully. That this part of his nature did not seem to frighten his love who now held onto him tightly, still holding his gaze as he continued to press the smaller man into the cushions, made Ludwig love him all the more.

This was truly the man for which he would do anything, go anywhere, kill anyone who dared to threaten him, Ludwig would do it all for his Feli; the knowledge that the beloved man in his arms would always love him as fully washed over him like a wave and with a half strangled promise the German followed his Italian lover as he came into him hard and fast and just as wild as his heart was beating furiously in his chest.

After filling his beloved, Ludwig wrapped Feliciano even tighter in his arms and rolled onto his back; he lifted his knees to hold his petite man as comfortably as possible as neither moved to seperate, each simply breathing, absorbed in eachother's heartbeats, and the rise and fall of their chests as each set of lungs breathed deeply, eyes only just now closed.

They lay there for an incalculable amount of time, as the minutes ticking by had lost all meaning.

Finally after some time, Feliciano's stomach growled, waking him from his happy daze.

Ludwig opened his eyes and returned to the world as well when the man in his arms stirred and woke. The German finally lifted his beloved off of him and Feliciano simply slid down beside the larger man, just barely fitting side by side on the sofa.

With heavy leaden limbs, the capo sat up and looked down at the petite mafioso reclining into the cushions. "You are hungry, Feli." Ludwig tried to smooth his hair back and met with moderate success. "Don't even move, I vill call something in." The tall blonde stood from the sofa and was surprised to find his legs trembled with the first few steps he took.

"Grazie..." Feliciano yawned from the sofa as he stretched and spread his arms wide, dangling off the end, a light smile on his face.

After calling in the order, and telling his boss's man in the lobby that the don was very busy planning his next move against the resilient federal agent, and that the food should be left outside the door, Ludwig returned to his love, still half asleep on the sofa.

With a warm cloth and hands gentler than any others would expect from the ruthless man, Ludwig cleaned his love as he always did and then lifting him in strong arms, the German sat down in the corner of the sofa, pulling the chennille throw blanket over his Italian love.

"Ve have about thirty minutes before the food arrives." Ludwig spoke, resting his chin atop the shorter man's head. "I got lasagna und spaghetti."

"Mmmmm!" Felciano burrowed into his lover, who so completely enveloped him in his arms, "That sounds delicious!"

They sat in silence for a moment, Feliciano tracing his hand through the light blonde hairs across his capo's chest, Ludwig absentmindedly straightening his catholic man's crucifix which had twisted around back to front as they made love.

"Ludwig?" Feliciano asked as his tall blonde dropped the necklace, satisfied that it was back to facing front, the thin gold chain now untangled.

"Ja, mien liebe?" The larger man replied sleepily.

"The day after tomorrow is Christmas Eve, will you come with me to midnight mass?" Feliciano continued, "Veh~, I know you aren't Catholic or any-" but found his words cut off my his protestant lover who whispered against his ear.

"Of course, Feli." Ludwig woke himself fully to respond. "I vill give you your present that day"

"Thats right!" Feliciano smiled widely up at his German man. "And I'll ive you yours!" Feliciano sighed happily laying his head back against his love's broad chest. "I don't know if I'll ever get used to giving gifts so early instead of on Epiphany."

"Ve can vait if you vant to-" Ludwig brushed his hand through Feliciano's hair and laughed at the quick response as the other man shook his head violently. "No, no! I don't want to wait!"

"Good, I don't really vant you to vait either." The German kissed the top of his Italian's head and as the two mobsters waited for the knock at the door that would tell them the late dinner had arrived, Ludwig closed his eyes, a small smile on his lips as he imagined the hand blown gold and glass cuffllinks sparkling at his love's wrists. The capo specifically did not let his mind wander to his brother and what Gilbert would be doing on Christmas eve this year.

Ludwig knew if he did not hear from his older brother, it would be the first they had spent apart since 1917.

_-End of Chapter 14-_

_Ich liebe dich von ganzem herzen: I love you with all my heart_

_Ti desidero: I want you_

_Ho bisogno di te: I need you_

_To my sister: A great big thank you for that hot steamy emotional Pru/Can lovin'! Once again, I got them to the race and AbbyGreenEyes got them across the finish line!_

_Also, I used to think, (as you may recall from a/n's in the past) that I was incapable of writing smut. I used to say 'Gimme an action sequence any day over smut!' and though it still takes me ages...I feel pretty damn good about my Ger/Ita loving in this chapter, and for that I thank my sis as well for tireless encouragement...though it usually went something like "Whats wrong with you? You can do it – just do it, why are you such a prude?" LOL. _

_Thank you for reading and all your lovely reviews, my beautiful wonderful readers! Please let me know if you would have prefered shorter chapters. I thought about splitting this up into two, but felt it was best to leave the day all together, bu if the majority want shorter chapters I will remember that for the future. _

_In Chapter 15: Christmas! Christmas Eve and Christmas day; The Mobsters go to mass, the Bolshevik and the Professor become more like brothers in the kitchen, as the Agent and the Capo's brother become less than enemies. The Doctor gets smashed, toasted, drunk at the Madame's party, will he say something he perhaps should not? The Don's angry brother bides his time. (Ch. 15 will be shorter – I assure you!)_

_right now, all I have are a few unrelated sketches, but as of tomorrow, I will have Its Just Business paintings up on my DA account. go to my profile for the link (:  
_

_As always, Spasiba, Danke, Grazie,and Thank you, thank you, thank you for reviews!_


	15. Chapter 15

_Hello all my beautiful wonderful readers! I sincerely apologize for the wait on ch. 15! (Its been a very busy month!) first, I would like to thank:_

_- Haruka Hourou for the priceless help with the Christmas Mass scene (AND MY FIRST EVER PIECE OF FAN ART! See it in my faves on DA – the link to my D.A is in my profile), _

_- Piyo13 for corrections on some of the Italian in the previous chapters, (I'll be fixing that tomorrow)_

_- and as always AbbyGreenEyes for constant encouragement. _

_Also, speaking of Deviant Art, I promised Its Just Business art up last month...I'm sorry! But I am working on it tonight and will have SOME up by tomorrow (Aug 2) again, at DA as Ratsister, follow the link in my profile. _

**Important note: if you havent read the backstories Mafia and Militar or Going Down and Looking up. I advise you do that first or this chapter will be confusing. **_  
_

_I'm trying out something new and giving the new translation at the top: Boo'deem Zdrovye: to our health: A Russian toast. I actually think that's the only new bit of foreign langauge in this one! Oh wait, no it isn't: __Himmelherrgott: which I am told is something like "God in heaven!" and __Grundgütiger! Which is like "Good Gracious!" and Kuschelbär which means: cuddlebear - now who says German isn't a romantic language!  
_

_Ch. 15: Prepare yourselves for FLUFF, melancholy, and bits of doom, all punctuated with more FLUFF. I have to give full warning, this chapter is the calm before the storm. _

_Sex, Drug Use. Rated M, don't ya know! :D_

_Note: My spellchecker isn't cooperating with me,so I've had to edit this by eye and I havent REALLY slept in about 4 days, so there may be typos. Ugh. I'll undoubtably find them later and fix them._

_Danke, Spasiba, and Grazie for being so patient my lovelies! Sorry for the long A/N and the long chapter when I promised to have it shorter! I am clearly incapable of this.  
_

_And now, I give you, Christmas Eve and Christmas:_

_..._

**Two days later, **

**the ****evening**** of Friday, the 24th of December, 1920. **

**Christmas Eve.**

The capo stood in the snow outside the agent's apartment building.

_Jones certainly didn't make it hard to find him_, the tall blonde thought as he shook his head and turned away from the well lit second story window through which the voices of those within could be heard clearly over the music of the radio.

Ludwig strode toward his brother's cherry red motor bike, noticing the layer of snow that covered the handlebars and seat. Gilbert had clearly not gone anywhere in at least a day. He practically lived with agent Jones now. The capo sighed heavily, his brows knit in a look of deep frustration.

_Gott verdammt, why am I even bothering to give him anything at all, when he has so clearly picked his side?_ Ludwig looked up toward the window again as, as if on cue, his older brother's laugh stood out against the other sounds and a few shadows passed the windows. Obviously, Gil was having a good Heiligabend.

But the tall German knew why he'd bothered to give his brother a gift at all. He was his brother, his older brother, and for better or worse, had always been a part of his life.

Ludwig had merely gone home to pick up some ammunition after taking care of a few errands, as he had been quite serious when he had promised Feliciano he would never run out again. It was while there that he had seen the scarf hanging forgotten in his closet over the photo album that had been gathering dust in the corner shelf.

Somewhat embarrassed by his sentimentality, the blonde turned the collars of his long coat up around the black, white and red knitted scarf that was wrapped around his neck. The soft wool fibers kept out the winter chill just as they had years ago when his brother had sent it to him on a day when he had needed it much more than he did now.

Of course, Ludwig wasn't stupid; the ends that showed the imperial eagle, the symbol of the now non existent empire for which he had fought, were tucked carefully under the buttons of his double breasted coat.

Hearing his brother's laughter again grated on his nerves. _Really, he could at least make an effort..._ the younger brother thought as he tied the box to the left handlebar of his brother's bike.

Though the knowledge usually surprised all who found out, the capo had other talents aside from those employed in his line of work. The dangerous man was also handy in the kitchen and thinking about introducing his Italian love to a few of the Christmas traditions of his homeland had made a batch of lebkuchen. It was as the spicy cookies were baking that Ludwig had come across the scarf and photo album and his thoughts had turned back toward his brother.

Ludwig reached a gloved hand into his coat pocket and gripped the thin photograph that lay beside the box holding Feli's gift. Withdrawing the picture, he slid its lower half just under the box's lid and turned back toward his car.

The snow flakes continued to fall, landing on the black and white smiling faces of the two boys in the photo.

The tall German capo brushed the snow from his shoulders before getting behind the wheel, and now firmly forcing his mind away from Christmases past, knowing the next move was his brother's to make, Ludwig started the engine.

He drove from the agent's parking lot and set off toward the mafioso's penthouse. A soft warmth came over the mobster's face as his thoughts turned to Feliciano and the gift he had been waiting to give him.

As Ludwig started his car and pulled through the snow covered parking lot, his older brother had been hanging a colored glass ornament on the fir in Jones' apartment. Things were still a bit strained between the agent and the bartender, neither addressing openly that Gil's brother would like to see Jones in the grave, and Alfred in turn was set on putting Ludwig in the pen. However, since the events at the Gold Star two days ago, the two had become less than enemies, if not quite friends.

For Alfred it all came down to Matt; if the pale German made his brother happy, than well, damnit that was going to have to be good enough. The Agent stopped in his thoughts and turned toward the other man whose crimson eyes had suddenly flickered to the window beside them.

Gilbert mumbled something under his breath and without a look to Alfred, he stepped to the door, said something about being right back and then closed it behind him as his footsteps hurried down the stairs..

The blonde straightened his glasses and stood back as he looked over the tree. It was basically done anyway. Though there was two more boxes of carnival glass ornaments to hang and the star, of course.

Suddenly feeling like he was putting far too much work into this than necessary, Alfred's attention was drawn to the conversation in progress in the kitchen.

Ivan and Mathew had been chatting about what the four of them were going to do for Christmas eve dinner. Mathew had healed quite a bit in two days, though his bruised ribs still pained him. The young professor remained adamant in his ability to cook dinner as his brother was hopeless in the kitchen unless a grill was involved. Ivan was hovering around him, insisting they share the burden.

"Matthew, there were many, ah, what is the word?" Ivan stood next to Alfred's brother as Matt gingerly knelt to pull dishes from the cabinet beneath the counter. "ah! delicacies, traditional foods, da, for the Christmas holiday before the revolution. You should not cook for four people alone." Violet eyes serious, Ivan looked at his love's brother. Anyone important to Alfred was important to him.

"I will assist you."

Mathew stood, pulling the pie pan from the cabinet. "Alright, well...uh, thanks, if you insist. But you really don't have-"

His words were cut off suddenly as his brother's Russian beau enveloped him in a fraternal hug.

Ivan pulled back, his lips upturned and eyes alight. "I am glad you agree, we are like family now, da?" The Russian poked the Canadian in the cheek pleasantly. "and I have never had a brother before."

The agent stood beside the tree, the silver tin star in his hand. Though it warmed his heart that Ivan and Mathew were getting along so well, Alfred suddenly felt the urge to draw his love's attention to himself.

"Hey Vanya," Alfred lifted his eyebrows toward Ivan, who still standing in the kitchen, turned his direction. "You're tall," _of course only by a few measly inches..._The agent thought to himself as he went on, "Wanna put the star on top for me?"

The American turned wide blue puppy dog eyes on his Russian lover. As Gil had lost interest in decorating the tree and taken off out the front door unexpectedly mumbling something about...something, he hadn't even really been listening. Mattie wasn't worried, so whatever it was, it didn't concern him. What did concern Alfred was that he had been left to finish decorating the fir tree that stood in the corner of his living room.

Ivan had stopped talking with Mathew and was now leaning on the open kitchen counter, violet eyes meeting those of wide blue and holding them as if in a staring contest.

Apparently, the Russian was becoming immune to his American sweetheart's most prized secret weapon.

Well that just wouldn't do.

"What?" Alfred whined, leaning into the wall and turning the star between his fingers. "Don't you put stars on your trees in the Soviet Union?" He cracked a sly grin, "Should it be red?"

Ivan straightened and tapped a finger on the counter as he moved into the living room; he spoke matter of factly though his small smile stayed in place. "Actually, Derogoy, we do not celebrate Christmas in Russia anymore."

The American agent stopped turning the star in his hand and shook his head at his bolshevik beau. "What am I going to do with you, Ivan?" Alfred turned toward the tree and reached up to place the star on top himself. Just as the ornament settled into place, he looked over his shoulder, "That better not mean I don't get a present!"

The socialist wrapped his capitalist love in his arms from behind and smiled into Alfred's hair. Ivan chuckled lightly, his breath moving the cowlick that stood up from his Americanski's hairline.

"Of course you get a present, Alfred." The slightly taller Russian grinned, "I know how much you Americans like material possessions."

While Alfred elbowed his bolshevik sweetheart in the ribs and laughing, turned around and into Ivan's kiss, Gilbert was standing in the parking lot; he held the box of cookies in one hand, the photograph in the other, dark red eyes on the tire tracks that were fast disappearing in the falling snow.

This was not the first time he had been guilty of having a one track mind, Gilbert admitted to himself as his thoughts dwelled on the little brother he had been avoiding for the past week.

True, the white haired man rationalized, he was most likely wanted by the mafia now for what he'd done, and though he wanted to believe he could still tell his brother anything, Gilbert felt he had good cause to suspect whatever he said would get back to the Don, and he wasn't entirely sure what the Italian's next move was going to be.

He and Feliciano had been friends; he'd never asked questions and the mafioso had stayed out of his business as well, never taking offense that the bartender hadn't wanted a loan when he opened his club.

But now, how could that friendship possibly continue? The pale man flicked the snow from the photo in his hands, crimson eyes turning from the tire tracks to the innocent, smiling faces of the brothers that looked back at him.

That life seemed as though it belonged to a different world, far away, and in some ways it did. The world was a different place now, not only were the maps they had grown up knowing re-drawn, but both men were far from their homeland, uncertain when or if they would return.

The boys whose smiling faces looked up at him had never expected war; never expected to leave the fatherland for such distant shores, nor find love in such very different places.

"Himmelherrgott!" The pale man exclaimed as he looked back the way his brother's car had gone. If anyone had been expected to live on the other side of the law it had been him, and all he did was ignore the ridiculous prohibiton...

Ludwig had always been so straight laced; the consummate soldier...Gilbert shrugged as he tucked the photo into the back pocket of his slacks and finally feeling the cold as he had not taken the time to grab either hat or coat, the German turned back toward the apartment.

Gilbert supposed that was how his brother could work for the mafia, ever the dutiful soldier, he would especially find no trouble doing whatever was needed to keep the man he loved in his position.

Climbing the stairs up toward Mathew again, Gilbert understood his brother's actions and hoped Ludwig understood that he'd do whatever it took to keep his own love safe. The pale man stopped on the stoop, his hand on the cold metal of the door knob. Crimson eyes looked back to the road and the pure snow that now obscured any trace of tire tracks.

It didn't make Gilbert happy to stay away from his brother, but the fact remained that Ludwig might not be the one to kill Matt, but he would let it happen. That knowledge sank into the older brother's heart like cold lead. As he turned the knob to return to his beloved scholar and the somewhat uneasy friendships he was making with the other men, Gil knew he'd have to contact Ludwig.

But not tonight. Not from here. Maybe tomorrow, on Christmas day...

...

The older German brother stepped around the Russian and American entwined around eachother in the middle of the room to lean casually on the kitchen counter and offer his love a cookie as across town, his younger brother was just climbing the steps toward the top story penthouse.

One hand in his pocket, fingers wrapped around the cufflinks he'd bought earlier. The tall blonde kept going over what he planned to say to his petite Italian love when he gave him his gift...

It was hard for the stoic man to put into words what Feliciano meant to him; their relationship was a complex one, and yet striking in its simplicity. Though each moment they shared alone brought them both closer and closer to danger should they be found out, the only regret the capo had was that he had not been honest with himself about his feelings for Feliciano sooner.

The petite mafioso completely undid him. Feli was at once a carefree soul, with a heart large enough to include the world, even a soldier who he should have seen as an enemy; he was also Don Vargas, the youngest mafia don in history, a man who could keep his smile as he pulled the trigger and send your family flowers the next day, never making his business decisions personal. A devout catholic, his love none the less never held himself back from what the church considered sins; Feliciano could kill a man and love one in the same day then confess it all at the end of the week.

As Ludwig exited the private stair and made his way toward the boss's rooms, he felt the back of his neck grow hot and spread over his face. It all really came down to the fact that he loved him. His beautiful Italian had changed his life so thoroughly; had made him look inside at the parts of his heart he had denied for so long. Ludwig knew he'd do anything for Feliciano...give up anything to protect him, but how could he put all that into words?

The strong German stood outside the door and taking a slow breath to calm his racing heart, Ludwig knocked in the rhythm Feliciano would recognize before opening the door, knowing fully that he would never be able to articulate exactly how he felt.

Though the tall blonde's expression had been one of deep thought, his brows knit tightly and jaw set as he climbed the stairs, the scene that greeted him upon entering the don's living area was enough to chase the thoughts from his mind and bring a slowly growing smile to his face.

"Ludwig! Veh~ I thought you'd take longer!" Feliciano was standing precariously, leaning back as he struggled to right the evergreen that was at least a foot taller than himself. "I don't have anything ready~"

The shorter brunette was surrounded by all manner of baubles, ribbons, beaded garlands, and glass orbs that littered his living room floor.

The petite don's jacket and pistol lay tossed and forgotten to the side, the sleeves of his black cotton dress shirt were rolled to the elbow and it appeared he'd been wrestling with the tree for some time.

"Vhy didn't you vait for me, Feli?" Ludwig asked as he immediately lifted the tree into the stand, still finding it impossible not to smile a little as his love sighed dramatically and indicated the mess all over the floor as loose bits of fir needles mixed with the decorations.

"Veh~ I wanted to surprise you!" The mafioso pouted as he picked up a few ornaments and began to decorated the tree. Caramel eyes turned up to his lover's bright blue as Feliciano went on, "Christmas trees have been becoming more popular in the north, but even when we stayed at the Florence house," The petite Italian smiled reminiscently, "which was my favorite, Grandpa is more traditional, so where you had a tree growing up, we had the presepio, which is the nativity scene. Every year we add another figurine."

Ludwig removed his coat and laid it on the side table, he sat the box of cookies, and the tiny velvet box of cufflinks on top, and moved to help Feliciano as the smaller man continued to pick up handfuls of ornaments and place them on the tree.

"So...you," Ludwig felt the lump form in his throat as his slender brunette stood on his toes to reach toward the top of the tree. "You vanted to put up a tree for me?"

The taller man rested one hand on his Italian's lower back, and with the other, he hung the glass bauble Feliciano had been struggling with.

As the slight mob boss stepped down, he turned into the strong arms of his capo as Ludwig held him close, forgetting the rest of the ornaments that littered the floor.

"Si, of course!" Feliciano reached his arms up to wrap around the taller blonde's neck as he pulled himself up to bring their lips together in a quick but passionate kiss. The Italian trailed his fingers along the scarf around his German love's neck, his eyes roving over the colors and emblem of Ludwig's old flag. "and I know you are feeling a little, veh..." Feliciano didn't want to bring up Gilbert and the whole mess between he and Romano. "...homesick?"

Ludwig didn't know what to say; the lump was thoroughly stuck in his throat, the burning heat returning to his neck and cheeks. Instead he lifted his petite man off the floor, putting the words that would not come into actions, as the couple's lips met a second time. The capo's tongue moved passed his boss's lips as Feliciano sighed into the kiss, the German reaching into the Italian's hair, fingers brushing past the sensitive curl.

When finally they broke the kiss, Feliciano sliding down his love's broad chest, and Ludwig loosening his grip, but not quite dropping it as his hands stayed firmly at the smaller man's slender hips, sharp blue eyes softened as he looked deeply into those of intoxicating caramel.

Feliciano's German capo leaned down, pulling him close as he spoke low into his ear, "Frohe Veihnachten, meine liebe."

Thinking he recognized the first two words from the phrasebook always sitting atop his desk, Feliciano responded in kind, "Boun Natale, amore mio!"

The two mobsters stood for a time, Ludwig's hands at Feliciano's hips, the smaller man's head resting against the other's chest, until at last, Ludwig suggested they finish decorating the tree.

As the two lovers selected where to place what ornament, Ludwig showing Feliciano the best way to hang the garland, the conversation was easy and light; there was no talk of business tonight, instead each man was thinking of the gift he longed to give to the other as they chatted about their different Christmas traditions and ate the spiced Lebkuchen cookies.

Finally, the tree completed, and glowing with the many votive candles that hung from tiny lanterns mixed among the glass ornaments and shining beaded garlands, the two men stood back to admire their work.

Admiring not only his first Christmas tree, but the way the light flickered across his German love's face as Ludwig looked over the tree they had decorated together, Feliciano could wait no longer to give his devoted soldier his gift.

"Meine Liebe," Feliciano began, always relishing the way his capo's eyes flashed when he spoke in Ludwig's tongue, "Can I give you your present now?" The mafioso known and feared across Chicago bounced on the balls of his feet with excitement.

The serious blonde nodded, blue eyes sparkling from the light of the tree. "Ja, I have yours here for you as vell, Feli."

As Feliciano turned and ran toward his office to retrieve the customized weapon for his hard working man, Ludwig swiveled around to pocket the small box of cufflinks, his heart racing in his chest.

No sooner had the capo turned around than his smiling mafioso was there, holding out a leather case as long as the length of his arm.

"Veh~ I hope you like it!" Feliciano's caramel eyes sparkled as Ludwig took the case and knelt down beside the coffee table to open it.

As soon as he unlatched the case, the capo's eyes went wide. He held the gift in his hands, next year's Thompson submachine gun, the M1921! As the petite Italian knelt beside him and went on about the custom upgrades that would make the gun fire more rounds faster and with greater accuracy, his German love turned the weapon in his hands, eyes alight at the elegance of the machine.

Suddenly an inscription along the side of the barrel caught his attention. '_Mit Liebe, Meine Soldaten'. _

Ludwig set the gun back in its case and as his petite love continued to detail the design additions of this unique weapon, the capo silenced his words, pulling Feliciano in close as both men knelt beside the coffee table. "I love it Feli, Danke."

The blonde ran his hand up the brunette's back and into his silken mahogany locks, "I can't vait to test it out!"

The mafioso sighed as he grinned into his capo's broad shoulder, "Veh~ I'm so glad you like it!"

"Of course I like it Feli;" blue eyes looked down as the blush returned to Ludwig's cheeks. "You know me vell."

The German stood, pulling the Italian up with him by the hand. "Now I vill give you your present Feliciano."

The capo's heart raced in his chest nearly drowning out his thoughts as Ludwig guided Feliciano to the sofa.

The smaller man's eyes were wide as he sat down on the plush cushions.

Letting go of the petite mafioso's hand reluctantly, Ludwig cleared his throat as he pulled the nearby ottoman over to face Feliciano. Sitting on the edge, the taller man faced his shorter boss on Feliciano's level, bright blue eyes meeting soft caramel brown.

The blonde could still feel the heat coming over him as he un-wrapped the scarf from around his neck and loosened his collar with one hand, the other reaching into his pocket to withdraw the small box. Now turning it in both hands, the capo kept his eyes on his boss and lover, trying to find the words that wouldn't come for just how much Feliciano meant to him.

"Feli, I-" He started, only to stop at the look on his Italian love's face as Feliciano leaned forward. "I, vell, I-" but again the words didn't come. '_Mein Gott, _Ludwig told himself inwardly, _Just do it!'_

The broad man took a deep breath and fixed his eyes intently on Feliciano's smaller hands as he gave him the box, and still holding both his lover's hands in his, Ludwig forced his words out.

Slowly at first, they came like the soft whistling of the wind against the glass windows, "Ich liebe dich, Feliciano. You know that;" The strong man's grip tightened on his sweetheart's hands as Ludwig's heart beat reached a perilous volume in his ears. "Vhat I vant to tell you, is..."

He wanted to tell him that it had been the most free and the most terrified he had felt in his life when he had first admitted his love to the petite brunette now looking across at him, somewhat worried. He wanted to say that when they had finally made love he thought he'd die and it would have been alright; that when Feliciano had been shot and he'd almost lost him he would have given anything to have been the one to take the Lithuanian's bullet instead. Wanted to tell him that the scars above Feli's heart and at his neck were constant reminders of how fleeting life was and that he never wanted to lose the beautiful Italian man that had saved his life, and changed it so much simply by his existence.

Ludwig wanted to tell Feliciano that no matter what happened he would always be by his side.

Why, oh why wouldn't the words come?

There was a silence as Ludwig struggled with himself, and Feliciano waited patiently, curious of what was going on behind his German's anguished expression.

At last, Ludwig leaned forward, bringing his love's hands close against his chest, where Feliciano could clearly feel the beating heart beneath his ribs.

"Gott Verdammt. Feli, I love you, und I..." Ludwig's voice began to rise as he pushed through the sudden anxiety at spilling out his heart so thoroughly. "I vould kiss you on the sidewalk if I could! If the vorld vas a different place und I could tell everyone how...how...," The German calmed his heart and his voice as he suddenly realized he'd been nearly yelling, "I vould tell everyone how much you mean to me, Feli...und you do mean everything to me."

The taller man dropped one knee to kneel down from the ottoman, and still holding his Italian love's hands tightly, Ludwig relaxed his grip to allow Feliciano to open the box he had so patiently been holding onto.

"Veh~" the brunette let out a happy sigh at the sight of the exquisitely crafted amber glass and gold cufflinks. Feliciano wasn't sure what to say; around a million exclamations could have been perfect, but he seemed to always be struck mute each of the few times he had seen his serious blonde show the depth of his emotions.

It was both an addictive feeling, one that the slender mafioso wanted to see more of, and at the same time, almost frightening in its intensity. _But no,_ the thought crystallized in Feliciano's mind as Ludwig took the sparkling cufflinks from their box and began to unroll the Italian's black cotton sleeves from his elbows to his wrists, _no, not frightening, but reassuring._ If Feliciano ever had worried that his devoted man would leave him, he needed only remember the look in those blue eyes now.

Aware of his love's warm almost golden eyes watching him intently, Ludwig found it easier to speak while his hands were occupied. "Feliciano, I vill alvays be by your side, as long as you vill have me. I do not know vhat I vould do vithout you;" Though he felt himself still blushing, the heat around the tips of his ears now, Ludwig looked up into the face of the man he loved so much. "I vill never let you be hurt again, und I vill make all those who vould oppose you regret it vith their final breath."

Fastening the last cufflink into place where it glittered brightly, gold against black, Ludwig continued to look up into eyes as bright as the precious metal trapped inside the glass at his love's wrists.

"Feliciano," he went on, finally knowing exactly how to say what was in his heart. The devoted capo took the mafioso's hands again and with one thumb tracing along the outline of his gift on his love's slender wrist, the always stoic man felt his blush begin to fade, his heart begin to calm.

"Feli, if the gold in this glass could be of another shape, one that you vear on your finger instead of your wrist, I vould give it to you today." Gulping down the lump that threatened to rise in his throat, the blonde went on, raising one hand into the brunette's hair above him as Feliciano sat in silence, taking in each word, his caramel eyes unblinking.

"Instead, I must settle vith these cufflinks und hope that...that you vill remember my promise vhen you vear them."

The don's lips parted to speak and then closed again as the petite Italian blinked and then without a second more of hesitation, Feliciano dropped down to his knees from the sofa and threw himself into his lover's strong arms.

"Si, si, si!" the expressive man peppered his love's face and neck with kisses until, breathing against his beloved man's lips, Feliciano whispered, "I would say ja, meine liebe."

The capo's heart leapt in his chest at the softly whispered words; wrapping both arms around his Italian love's slender back, Ludwig pressed Feliciano against the base of the sofa as they kissed deeply under the flickering lights of the Christmas tree.

There would be no talk of business, no mention of the other families or of their own. These few precious hours before they left for midnight mass belonged to Ludwig and Feliciano the men, the souls as they were, not the names they had made, the reputations that followed men in such positions, neither the boss nor his capo gave a single thought to any of the worries that had plagued their minds an hour ago.

The taste of lips, the feel of the other so close, fingers twining through blonde hair or around a slender back, and the sounds of soft sighs and whispers in mixed languages, only these mattered tonight.

...

In contrast to the softly flickering light and quiet sounds of whispered devotion in the don's penthouse, Agent Jones's apartment hummed with not only the buzz of brand new electric lights Alfred had just had to buy when he saw them, but with the activity of a room full of friends.

The bolshevik and the professor cooked the late dinner together, both laughing as Ivan threatened in jest to put sour cream on the freshly finished Bûche de Noel, as Mathew suggested topping the salmon verinki with maple syrup instead.

The capo's brother and the agent were finding it harder to not get along than they had expected. Rationalizing that he was off duty, Alfred had had just as much of the imported beer his white haired house guest had smuggled in as Gil had himself, and was just challenging the equally competitive man to their third arm wrestling bout between giggles, when he leaned over from the table into the kitchen and smiling broadly, called, "Oh man, Vanya, tell me you guys are making those cherry things - they were the bee's knees!"

The only answer Alfred received was Ivan's enigmatic smile from the kitchen before he turned back toward the stove and the conversation he was having with Mathew about the lack of Russian history being taught in universities in the west.

Though a heavy topic, the two people most important to the American agent now swaying somewhat tipsy as he stood beside the table, were handling the conversation lightly amidst their jokes and food related pranks.

Alfred stood at the table, and for a moment had forgotten what he was doing. Suddenly, the crimson eyed German's laughing visage came into focus. Gilbert smiled broadly and laughed heartily. His accent coming out thicker with each bottle he'd had as he attempted to whisper into Alfred's ear, the words coming out much louder than he had intended.

"Vell, _Agent Jones_," the capo's brother started sarcastically, "I have that little _something_," He winked one eye and leaned onto the table facing Alfred, "That you asked me to procure."

The pale German mimed taking a long swig of imaginary liquid.

Alfred gripped his old enemy's collar and pulled him into the hallway. "Keep a lid on it, will ya?"

Gilbert just grinned and strode toward the guestroom where he had been spending the last two nights with Mathew. "Vell do you not vant to wrap it, Jones?" The white haired man laughed as he opened the door, revealing the bottle of imported Russian vodka. "Ve had this sent from France," Gilbert nodded with meaning as he steadied himself, handing the bottle of perfectly clear alcohol to the agent. "made before the revolution."

"Thanks, how um," Alfred weaved slightly and shook his head clear of the fog the German beer had created. He really wasn't used to drinking anymore. "How, um, how much do I owe you?"

"I think forty dollars vill do it." Blurry crimson eyes sharpened as the american agent paid the german bartender, Gilbert's various offenses running through his mind, _speak-easy owner, smuggler, ties to the mafia..._

"Forty dollars," Alfred grumbled though he pulled the money from his wallet and handed it over.

Gilbert pocketed the cash and grinned as he guided the other man from the room.

"Und to think only forty dollars of vodka vill get you to break the law Agent Jones, I alvays vould have bet it higher."

Turning back toward Gil, Alfred spoke deadpan. "Gambling is illegal Beilschmidt."

Though he did feel a twinge of guilt at the purchase of such illicit material, as smuggled vodka, Alfred joined in with the pale German as Gilbert began to laugh so hard as to be soon reduced to leaning against the hallway wall, tears springing from his eyes. "Gambling!" Gilbert's crimson eyes were full of mirthful tears as he pointed up at his brother's enemy also laughing loudly and holding onto one of his hall cabinet doors.

"I...I never vould have thought-" Gilbert struggled to get his words out around the laughter, "You vould have-" The pale man's guffaws finally reached such a volumne as to get the attention of the two men in the kitchen as he continued, now leaning onto Alfred, the agent's laughter meeting that of the capo's brother who finally managed to finish his sentence. "you vould have a sense of humor Jones!"

"Yeah, I guess you're ok for a dirty rum runner yourself!" Alfred leaned against the cabinet, his equilibrium off kilter as he laughed harder.

"What the hell, eh?" It was Mathew's voice that finally broke through the two men's laughter as each attempted in vain to conceal the effects of the alcohol they had already consumed.

Straightening and clearing their throats, wiping the tears from thier eyes, both Alfred and Gilbert spoke at once.

"Hey Mattie, hows the food comin'?"

"Mmm, it smells good in there Kuschelbär."

The professor rolled his eyes pointedly at his brother before turning to his man; "Don't you 'Kuschelbär' me, Liebe." Matt spoke sternly at first though his face betrayed his amusement. "Just how much have you two had?" The canadian peered closely at both his brother and Gilbert.

Alfred scoffed and answered with his head held high, "Barely any. We're completely sober."

Clearly this answer did not satisfy his brother who merely raised his eyebrows, a chuckle escaping Mathew's throat as he shook his head at his twin.

Siezing his opportunity, the white haired German stepped quickly to his sober lover's side, "Lies. All lies meine Liebeling." Crimson eyes gazed fuzzily into blue violet as Gilbert continued. "He's had eight!"

Ignoring Alfred's outraged eclamation at the betrayel, Mathew spoke to the man now leaning into him, one arm draped comfortably around his waist. "And how many did you have, Gil?"

"Oh, twice that Kuschelbär, I can drink your brother under the table any day!"

Sighing, the sober twin turned away from the hall and back toward the kitchen; the german grinned at his unexpected drinking buddy once before following Mathew from the hallway.

Alfred began to follow them into the living and kitchen areas of his home before realizing he still held Ivan's gift in his hand! The tipsy agent spun quickly on his heels and shoved the large glass bottle into the stack of towells inside the cabinet he had just been leaning onto.

No sooner had Alfred turned around than he was greeted by shining violet eyes and a small michievious smile.

"I see you are getting along better with Gilbert." Ivan spoke low, as he leaned in toward Alfred, the Russian's arms pulling his American love in close. "It is good that you are drinking together; the best friendships are begun this way."

"Mnn, yeah, whatever." The blue eyed man only partially registered his Russian beau's words; it was how close Ivan was and the fact that the taller pale haired man was still sober while he was well on his way to becoming completley drunk that was the agent's current focus.

_It wasn't fair, _Alfred thought. _Simply Unfair._

Thinking he would just have to remedy the problem by getting Ivan as toasted as he was, Alfred couldn't wait to give him his present. _ Hadn't Gil said something about giving gifts on Christmas Eve earlier? _Alfred was pretty sure he had. He'd have to suggest it after they'd all eaten.

At the moment, his attention was drawn back to the soft lips at his ear and the words his Russian whispered, "You remember how your inhibitions left you the last time you were drinking, da?"

The tipsy agent felt his body heat under his soviet lover's attentions, and melted into him, running his hands along Ivan's belt to loop his thumbs in at the sides of the slightly taller man's hips.

As Ivan held his Americanski close, whispering of the seductive memory, the violet eyed man was well aware of how he had been taking every moment they were alone to hold onto Alfred as he did now. That he could have lost him was agony; that is had been his own sister who had intended to rob him of the man he loved filled Ivan with guilt.

_I should have suspected_, the Russian berated himself, _I should have known._

The healing lip and just beginning to fade bruises that marred Alfred's jaw were a constant reminder that he had been so close, so very close to losing it all.

The Russian smiled to himself as he pulled the tipsy blonde in closer and taking advantage of each second they had alone in the hallway, kissed along the American's neck.

Ivan's thoughts invariably returned to the morning two days ago when he had found Alfred with his brother in the basement of his sister's hotel. As Ivan's blue eyed love moved to reciprocate the attention he was gettting and nuzzled down one side of the Russian's scarf, Ivan thought, as he had several times since that day, He was forever indebted to his older sister.

Without her actions he would have lost him. His strong, brave, ridiculously stubbourn American. The knowledge that Alfred had pulled the trigger against his own temple and sustained such injuries as he had haunted Ivan. He wanted to take it all back; he should have been there to stop if from happening at all.

Had he been too late, Ivan thought with a shiver, he wasn't sure what he would have done.

He really didn't know.

And so the Russian covered the American with gentle yet intense kisses and held him every available moment they had together.

Suddenly, the rumbling of a stomach that had waited far too long with nothing but beer to sate it drew both men's attention.

"You are hungry, mo'ee lyoubov?" Ivan drew back with a laugh etched across his face.

Alfred's eyes were heavily lidded as he pulled back from his love's scarf-clad neck, but as the smell of what his brother and Ivan had been making wafted toward them in the hall, sky blue eyes brightened and cleared as hunger overrode lust for the time.

"Oh my God, Vanya," Alfred sighed as he draped one arm along the top of his bolshevik's broad shoulders, aware as ever, of the power of his lover's nickname, "You have no idea. Tell me you made those cherry things."

"Da," Ivan laughed, his violet eyes light and smile easy as he wrapped an arm around his beloved flyboy's waist and steered the tipsy man in toward the kitchen. "Cherry is one of the kinds of varenyky I made tonight."

Violet eyes sparkling, the Russian pinched the American lightly in the side, "But that is dessert; you must eat savory before you can have sweet."

Alfred groaned lightheartedly, knowing he'd snag one of the cherry filled dumplings if he wanted.

As one couple joined the other at the table, the thoughts of each were far from their troubles. Each man wanting to keep the one they loved from worrying himself, the agent decided to let his co-workers deal with Ivan's sister; the bolshevik captain shoved concerns about the cheka to the back of his mind along with the dread that he would never be able to step again on Russian soil.

The professor deliberately chose not to think about the multitude of his brother's enemies still out there or what would happen to Gilbert for helping him; the capo's brother in turn tried not to think about the little brother he feared he would lose or the danger he knew was still waiting for the agent sitting across from him and what that meant for the man he loved.

...

The hours passed as the four men ate their dinner of international dishes and laughed together, each happy to dismiss thier concerns for the duration of the holiday. Uptown from the agent's apartment, the mafioso and his capo were doing the same.

Still avoiding work or the troubles with their older brothers, Ludwig and Feliciano had instead been more than happy to simply be for the hours they had in private.

The spicy lebkuchen cookies had all been eaten. Feliciano lay back against his German capo's broad chest as the notorious men sat on the floor beside the sofa, the flickering lights from the tree landing to dance along the gold in the amber colored cufflinks the petite boss's eyes kept being drawn too.

The slender brunette sighed again as he moved his wrist to catch the light. It was not only the beauty of the cufflinks, but the meaning his serious man had intended that held his attention so enraptured.

The moments passed in silence as the capo held the mafioso close; the sense of relief at having been able to express himself had left the tall blonde in an unusually lighthearted state.

When the clock chimed eleven, breaking the comfortable silence, Feliciano turned in the strong arms that held him as Ludwig spoke, "Ve should be leaving soon, hm Feli?"

With reluctance, the boss stood from his soldier's arms as he agreed.

Ludwig straightened his tie, rewrapped the scarf, and slid his arms back into the sleeves of his overcoat as his petite love did the same, pulling on the black pinstriped jacket to complete the three piece suit before shrugging into his own dark wool coat.

the capo held his boss's fedora out for him as Feliciano turned toward his German love.

"Grazie Ludwig!" Feli took the hat in one hand and stepped up on his toes to plant a kiss to the taller man's cheek. "Veh~ I don't really want to leave now; I want to stay here with you." The petite mob boss winked one caramel eye at his lover, causing the blonde's cheeks to flush pink instantly.

"Ja, vell..." Ludwig cleared his throat, part of the German's mind thinking how tempting the Italian's sentiment had been. However, the rational part of Ludwig's mind that almost always won out asserted its dominance over his actions now as ever.

"Feli, how vould that look to the other families? They vould instantly become suspicious." The taller blonde wrapped one arm loosely around the shorter man's waist, turning him toward the door.

"Veh~ I wish Christmas could last forever and I didn't have to think about that..."

Blue eyes focused on his petite man as Ludwig took Feliciano's hat from his hands and placed it atop mahogany locks. "Mm." The capo agreed. His jaw set, he opened the door, and as the Italian walked ahead, the German closed it behind him before joining his love in the hall.

In a short time the two mobsters were climbing the front steps of the Holy Name Cathedral; the snow had stopped falling, but swirled in eddies around the stairs. Many parishioners were already inside, others coming up behind them on the steps.

Ludwig had been to Feliciano's church many times, but always stood outside waiting for him, never entering past the wide front doors due to the uncomfortable feeling of sins from which he felt he would never be free. Though a Lutheran, and having grown up believing through faith in God one could be certain of salvation, the German still had doubts that faith would be enough to absolve him of the murders; the many men he had killed both in war and after. When the God he had worshipped as a boy was one who taught peace and to turn the other cheek, how could he reconcile the man he had become with his faith?

The tall blonde followed his love up to the dish of holy water before the sanctuary.

His jaw clenched in deep thought, Ludwig was amazed by how calm Feliciano appeared. The mafioso certainly had as much blood on his hands, if mostly indirectly, and yet as he dipped his finger in the clear liquid and crossed himself whispering the light latin words, " In nomine Patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti" Don Vargas seemed entirely at peace.

It was completely strange to the German capo; though Ludwig found Feliciano's unwavering faith in light of his profession somehow admirable.

As the protestant man followed his catholic love past the holy water, his tumultuous thoughts finally cleared in one epiphany. An epiphany that left him feeling oddly rebellious but none the less sure in his sudden conviction.

He had killed; in the war it was shoot or be shot. In his post war profession it was to keep his love in his position, getting rid of any who opposed Feliciano or refused to pay up on debts owed the family.

He had no regrets.

As they walked down the center aisle side by side, Feliciano noticed Roderich and Elizaveta sitting beside his older brother and as the brunette led the way toward the pew, Ludwig's epiphany was continuing to unfold in his mind.

He had killed, and he would again. He had loved a man, and he certainly would again. Both these things he had been taught as unforgivable. These were deeds that earned one an eternity in hell.

The epiphany suddenly crystallizing in Ludwig's mind was simple as he mirrored Feliciano's genuflection toward the alter, before kneeling with him at the pew.

He was completely unrepentant.

Were the lord to come down into the cathedral that moment and declare that both he and his beloved Italian were going to hell lest they stop loving one another, Ludwig knew that was no creator he wanted to worship. As for the murders, he had no regrets as long his actions kept Feli safe and in his place as Don.

Looking to his left to see the petite mafioso whispering inaudible prayers before the service, the capo prayed silently himself that all the religions he knew of were wrong; that humans had misunderstood their Father's words and that just maybe heaven held a place for everyone.

As the Priest and attending ministers entered amidst the light smell of incense and made their way toward the alter, Ludwig stood along with his love, and bowed toward the alter with the rest of the congregation as the priests reached it and did the same.

Blue eyes roamed the sanctuary as the tall German wasn't sure of the words to say as the priest spoke to the parishioners and they replied in return. His vision took in the high vaulted ceiling and detailed stained glass windows which would surely be dazzling in the light of day. Ludwig's attention roved around the cathedral from the architecture to the decor of the elegantly detailed nativity scene beside the altar till his eyes finally returned to the man to his left as Feliciano had turned toward him only slightly as he spoke in response to the priest's words.

"...and with you."

Caramel eyes met and held those of brightest blue as the mafioso resisted the urge to reach for the hand that hung so near to his own, half in the taller man's pocket.

Feliciano hadn't ever really talked much about religion with his beloved capo; the young mafioso hoped Ludwig wasn't feeling awkward being out of his element. Momentarily he wondered what differences there were to a Lutheran Christmas service; he knew his love was religious but was hard pressed to recall a time he'd known Ludwig to be at church. He had always been free when Feliciano called to invite him to lunch on Sundays...Perhaps Ludwig had not sought out a church to replace the one he had known at home in Berlin so long ago.

Of course the mafioso knew his serious man wasn't one to start a conversation about himself; he'd just have to ask him about it sometime. For now, the Italian simply smiled up at his German love as Ludwig smiled a small smile down to him as well.

Blue eyes stayed focused on the slender man beside him as Feliciano asked for forgiveness in penitence along with the rest of the congregation; the notorious mobster's words were sincere on his tongue as he touched his right hand to his heart.

"...I have sinned through my own fault, in my thoughts and in my words,in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do..."

The capo spoke the words along with his love, still amazed at how the petite brunette could disconnect his work from his life and surrender his guilt in confessions and penance. Deciding it must simply be the way Feliciano had grown up in a mafia family, Ludwig gave up trying to analyze his beloved and instead simply enjoyed the beauty of the ceremony and the voice of his geliebte.

As the carols were sung, the scriptures read, Ludwig tried to go along with the unfamiliar liturgy; happily he was able to recognize most of the songs and readings and joined in in singing them with his petite brunette beside him. He and Feliciano shared the order of service, and spoke aloud the responses along with the rest of the congregation.

The tall German stood with his petite Italian when Feliciano stood and sat when he sat, prayed when he prayed and sang when he sang.

When the priest called for the nicene creed to be recited, Ludwig was able to speak from memory along with Feliciano, comfortable with the words he had memorized so long ago as a child. These words were part of his tradition as well.

After a time the protestant knelt beside his catholic love again, following the mafioso's lead, as the congregation prayed as one in preparation for communion. When they stood again it was to speak the Lord's prayer, again these words were familiar to the tall blonde who fought the sudden urge to reach for the man beside him, envying Roderich whose arm was comfortably draped around his wife's waist just down the pew from he and Feliciano.

When the time came for the breaking of the bread and the congregation knelt again, Ludwig prepared himself for the awkward moment to come; though unfamiliar with the formula of Feliciano's worship service, he knew well the many causes for his own tradition's formation. One such disagreement centered on the sacrament of communion.

Apparently his Italian love had not thought of it however, as Feliciano turned warm caramel eyes up at him. Whispering so quietly that even the man for which his words were intended barely heard him, the petite boss leaned in toward his capo. "Veh~ I'm sorry amore mio, I forgot-"

More concerned that someone might have somehow heard the Italian's words, the German shook his head nearly imperceptibly and whispered in response, "Sh, I know."

Ludwig hoped Feli didn't think he took offense, the capo simply couldn't take the chance that any in attendance might hear his boss's words of love. The tall man stayed on his knees as his love rose and went to the alter along with his brother and their friends, amongst the members of the rival families of their business that never slept.

Unlike all others around him, who for various reasons of their own were not taking part in the communion, Ludwig's head was unbowed. He watched Feliciano protectively, blue eyes focused like those of a hawk on the men around his love. In their line of work, even a church in the wee hours of Christmas morning could not be taken for granted as a safe haven.

When Feliciano returned to his side, Ludwig made to stand, but the smaller man stepped lightly behind him, one slender hand touching down on the German's broad shoulder, silently communicating for him to stay down as Feliciano again took his place to Ludwig's left.

That his protestant love had come along with him to mass caused Feliciano's heart to soar. He wanted Ludwig in all aspects of his life. As the parishioners one by one returned to kneel or to sit in the pews and pray in silence, the don's eyes were drawn to the glittering cufflinks at his wrists. The gold flecks trapped in the amber glass shone brilliantly against the black of his dress shirt.

His strong, devoted man's words echoed in his mind, _"I vill alvays be by your side, as long as you vill have me."_

Feliciano looked to his right and met his love's sky blue eyes. It seemed both men had been sharing the same thought.

The mob boss had had an ulterior motive for deciding to remain kneeling when he could have chosen to sit. As more and more people filled the pews around them, the shadows increased near the floor where the boundaries of both men, dressed in dark colors, were lost to the shadows. While all eyes were downcast or closed in prayer, Feliciano reached boldly to link his smallest finger with Ludwig's, their hands hidden in the shadow.

A rosy flush flashed across the blonde's face, though he fought to contain it.

The lovers kept their fingers linked under cover of the shadow until the end of the service; standing for the concluding rite, blessing, and dismissal, the two men reluctantly parted contact.

Before leaving the cathedral, Ludwig was right behind his love as Feliciano stepped into the forming line to pass the nativity scene at the front of the sanctuary. The capo followed the mafioso as the petite man knelt to kiss the foot of the christ child at the heart of the presipio.

Once they had reached the foyer where friends and family members were chatting as bells rang above, Elizaveta came forward from the crowd that parted before her to hug Feliciano closely.

The Hungarian smiled up at the German in greeting as well as she spoke, her words light and celebratory, "You two will be at our little Christmas shindig, won't you?" She didn't give either man a chance to answer as she linked arms with her dear friend, steering Feliciano toward the doors where her husband stood with the mafioso's older brother.

The slender man turned back toward his tall capo as Ludwig followed behind him, "Si, you have the best parties! Veh~ you want to Ludwig?"

The blonde caught up with his lover and their friends as the inner circle of Chicago's most feared family left the cathedral steps. "Ja, I don't see vhy not, Feli."

...

As the mobsters celebrated Christmas together at the Edelstein-Hedervary estate, partying with their friends as the radio played, illegal libations poured, and an extravagant feast laid out before them, complete with sumptuous cakes and savory entrees from the two assassin's homelands, the atmosphere was no less celebratory at Agent Jones' apartment.

"Come on Matt, open mine first!" The agent shoved the gift into his brother's hands.

After eating the Christmas eve dinner, the four men had lounged happily full; the agent leaned against the bolshevik's chest on the sofa as the proffessor and the bartender played with Gilbird as they sat on the floor in the livingroom.

As soon as the clock had struck midnight, Alfred, having never gotten the chance to ask Gilbert about gift giving any earlier, jumped up from the sofa exclaiming that it was now officially Christmas morning and had run off to grab the present he'd gotten for his brother ages ago and hastily wrap the gift he'd had Gilbert get for Ivan just the day before.

Now all four were gathered in the livingroom once more, both brothers on the floor as if they were kids again.

Mathew grinned; "Ok, Al, yours first."

Both the pale german and the american agent had sobered quite a bit as they ate and the intoxication wore thin, however a happy buzz seemed to have stuck to both men, whether it was the holiday or the alcohol Mathew wasn't sure.

Alfred watched with wide excited blue eyes as his twin pulled the wrapping paper off, he knew he'd gotten the perfect gift for his sentimental, studious brother. Agent Jones was grinning ear to ear as Matt unwrapped his present.

"Al, wow, thanks!" Mathew held up the book, The Outline of History by H.G. Wells.

"The hardcover edition! Wow Alfred, thanks so much!" Mathew beamed at his brother, "This is great! Its the text I'm teaching from in the spring and my paperback version is already worn out!"

Content with himself, Alfred lounged back against the bottom of the sofa between Ivan's calves, as the tall Russian remained seated, leaning down with his arms loosely around his Americanski's shoulders. "Thats not all bro." Alfred pointed to the smaller, wrapped disk that had fallen out of the package as Mathew had dropped the box.

"Oh?" His twin's blue violet eyes settled on the disk as Mathew picked it up and tore the wrapping. "A puck?" He smiled questioningly across at his brother.

"Not just any puck Mattie," Alfred was suddenly serious as he reminisced about their old days. Neither brother talked much about the divorce that had divided the family; the scandal had shook the town they'd been living in, as Matt had gone with the their mother to Canada and Alfred had stayed with their father in America. Because it had been such a tumultuous time for the twins, Mathew stared at his brother as he answered, having not expected such depth in Alfred's gift.

"You know, " the American twin began, "I never really played anymore after you moved, but I kept it around...So when I found that after you said you were coming down to visit, I though it would make a good present..."

Stunned by his brother's sentimentality, Mathew sat up and hugged Alfred close; truthfully, he thought, through all the troubles he'd been met with on this visit to his brother, near death scrapes with the mafia, being abducted and nearly murdered by Al's soviet beau's sister...all that aside, he and his brother had never been closer than they had become on this visit.

Matt and Al knew eachother better, Alfred knew himself better, they'd faced death together, and while that might be something the American brother did on a typical workday, it had been a new experience for Mathew.

Pulling back from the hug gingerly as his sore ribs protested the tight embrace, Mathew reached into his pocket to bring out an envelop. As Gilbert sat up to put an arm softly around his love's injured side, Matt tossed the envelop to his brother who caught it mid air.

"Its not much..." Matt began as Alfred opened the envelop, ripping one corner and shaking the contents free.

"Tickets! Swell, Mattie!" Alfred's grin was infectious as his brother smiled back.

"Well, I just thought, maybe next time, you visit me, eh?" the professor leaned into his German sweetheart as he went on, "Maybe take a break from all the people out to kill you down here once in a while? Those are good for the train all season so whenever..."

"Yeah Matt, I definitley will!" Alfred placed the tickets on the side table as Gilbert spoke up and without moving from where he held his scholarly love; the pale man stretched out a leg to nudge the package he'd stuck beneath the tree earlier until he'd scooted it right in front of Mathew.

"Merry Christmas, Liebe."

Mathew lifted the lid from the small box in front of him as Ivan stood from his place on the sofa.

As Alfred's brother gasped at the gift his German love had given him, the bolshevik soldier had taken the American agent by the hand. "Alfred, I would like to give you your gift now as well.

Intrigued, the blonde took the silver haired man's hand and followed him from the room as his brother held the second book he'd been gifted to his chest.

"Gilbert, this is amazing! Where? How...?" The young history professor clutched the ancient diary carefully as though it could disintegrate at any second, though it had been clearly well cared for.

"You like it, meine liebeling?" The crimson eyed man grinned; he'd known this gift would be perfect for his Canadian love as soon as he had thought of it.

"Do I like it?" Mathew turned to face Gilbert. "I love it! Is this real? I mean, how? Shouldn't it be in a museum somehwere? This can't be -"

Crimson eyes caught blue violet and Gilbert grinned even broader. Mathew's reaction was even more awesome than he had hoped. "The daily observances of a Prussian knight?" He shrugged though still obviously smug about the reception of his gift. "A family heirloom. 'Just something one of my ancestors kept during the various wars of the time." Red eyes twinkled as Gil leaned in and kissed his man softly on the lips. "When you told me vhat you studied to get your doctoral degree, my brilliant man, I knew it had to be yours."

"But Gilbert, Its from the 1500's! Thats 400 years ago!"

The pale man grinned, "And good at math too..." He played with the spiralling curl in Mathew's blonde waves. "I'm too lucky."

Mathew sighed happily as he turned the yellowed pages of parchment carefully, marveling at the detail, the descriptions of life and battle, the care and attention the book had recieved. Finally looking back up, the Canadian's expression was down turned. "My gift isn't nearly as amazing..."

Mathew sat up and reached for the tweed jacket laying over the arm of a nearby chair. Again, he withdrew an envelop; this one smaller than the last.

"Ok; close your eyes." The professor had sat up fully and turned to face the pale bartender.

Bright crimson eyes closed to infinitesimal slits.

"No, c'mon, close them all the way, eh!" Mathew laughed as his German love sighed dramatically and closed his eyes tight, a wide crooked grin etched on his face.

No sooner had Matt put the envelope in Gilbert's outstretched hand then the German's pale fingers closed around it, feeling the shape as the envelope crumpled around the object inside.

His eyes going suddenly wide, the pale man ripped the envelop to let the contents fall into his hand.

A single gold key.

_Awesome. Matt had thought this wasn't as good as the diary? _These were the only thoughts that came to mind as his sweet Canadian talked, a blush creeping across Mathew's face as Gilbert's grin only intensified

"I thought, maybe, since I have to leave soon to go back home, maybe you could come visit, you know, whenever you want..." The blonde trailed off as his white haired man stared at him, grinning.

As Mathew trailed off into inaudible mumbles, Gilbert sat up and pulled him into a careful but passionate embrace. Without a word, the german brought the canadian's lips to his own, reveling in the softness of Matt's lips and taste as they parted to allow him in. Each man's hands mirrored thier tongues explorations, reaching up under a shirt to wrap around painful ribs to a smooth back, reaching deep into back pockets as each drew the other closer, glad to be alone in the room.

Suddenly, Mathew withdrew his hand from the left back pocket of Gilbert's slacks, the photo in his grasp.

Breaking contact for only enough time to speak, the capo's brother held the agent's brother close. "Don't vorry about that, babe." Gil took the photo smoothly from his canadian sweetheart's hand, laying it beside the key on the floor before running pale fingers through blonde waves and silencing Mathew's concerns with his kiss.

...

As the Canadian and the German kissed deeply in the livingroom floor, beneath the electric glow of the christmas tree, the Russian was just turning to face his American love after rifling through his bag looking for Alfred's gift.

Ivan stepped close; his hands held behind his back, wrapped around the irregular shape he had to work to conceal from Alfred's eyes as the American agent leaned around and tried to peer over the Russian captain's shoulders.

"Alfred. Stop that or you will not get your present at all." Ivan's small smile betrayed him as he spoke.

Alfred's blue eyes were wide and clear as he looked over his glasses at the slightly taller Russian. "Well come on then Vanya~ stop killing me with suspense already!"

Violet eyes gazed down at his American love. "Da, first, I know that you capitalists like new things, material items bought from a store, but I have no American money, and so...what I have to give you is something I have held onto for a long time,but something that is not new; instead it belonged to you before."

Alfred stared at his Russian lover. "Vanya, seriously, could you be more mysterious?" The American laughed, "Just gimme the damn thing already so I can give you yours!" The blonde bounced on his heels, the bottle of vodka held behind his back.

The bolshevik soldier nodded at the former flyboy. "On count of 3?" Ivan began counting, Alfred joining in.

"Adeen,"

"One,"

"Dva,"

"Two,"

"Trei!"

"Three!"

The American's smile grew to a grin as he handed his Russian love the obvious bottle shaped gift. However, the grin dropped to a look of surprised recognition as Ivan handed Alfred his present.

No less delighted with the vodka, the bolshevik stood silently waiting for the reaction from his American man.

Alfred turned the piece of wood in his hands; this had once been part of a plane. His fingers ran across the charred wood; the faded red and white stripes, their paint peeling and bubbled from the fire that had claimed the wreckage after he stumbled from the crash.

Ivan stepped back as Alfred moved to sit on the edge of the bed absent-mindedly. Violet eyes watched his beloved flyboy as Alfred's expression turned far away.

Images, blurry, stilted, and half-formed were flickering through the former pilot's mind. It was as though he was borrowing memories from the shard of his old plane.

_The woosh of wind,_

_The approaching ground coming toward him in his rapid descent,_

_The dizziness coming over him as he moved through the broken bits of wood and metal,_

_The thunder of hooves amidst the rat-a-tat of bullets, the whistle of cannon,_

Blue eyes turned to violet.

_The sound of an unfamiliar language,_

_A furry hat signalling he was among allies,_

_The bouncing feeling of galloping through the battle,_

Alfred had lost his memory of the events that had occurred immediately after the crash; he had been told it was Ivan who saved is life, rushing him to the British medical tent, but then his memory gave way to flashes of half remembered dream-like sequences. What he had dreamed and what had been real, Alfred had never known. He'd wanted to ask Ivan, but by the time they had met again he had had new worries on his mind.

The Russian's hand was on the American's leg as they sat side by side on the bed.

The agent continued to look to the bolshevik with the eyes of a pilot seeing the captain in the Imperial army again.

The dream came back to him now, clearer.

_He swayed beside a cot._

_Violet eyes and the same scarf, he'd said: I think you are not accustomed to things keeping you down, da?"_

_Ivan had been there, he had said he'd come back to get him if the battle broke out again._

_He had been there. Each time when he came out of those strange dreams brought on by the pain killer, Ivan had been there._

A hot tear rolled down his cheek; Alfred hadn't been aware he had been crying.

Clearing his throat, Al spoke over Ivan's apology, the Russian was sure that the gift had been a bad idea.

"No, no, this..." the American fought to keep his watery eyes in check, telling himself he wasn't crying. "This is the best Christmas present ever." Alfred went on, looking away for a moment, back to the faded paint on the bit of wreckage before returning to his Russian's characteristic pale violet eyes.

"You um, stayed there for a long time; With me I mean? I don't remember so well, but I always wanted to ask you, what parts were a dream and what was real - Did you come back more than once?" The blonde ran a hand across his forehead and into his hair at the sudden echo of a headache as he looked away to the side.

"Da," The Russian had hoped his American love would one day remember what he had forgotten under the haze of his injury and the sedative medication; however Ivan had held no expectations for this hope and had certainly not thought his indomitable American would regain his memories at the sight of the plane's fragment.

The broad, violet eyed man answered carefully as he wiped a second tear from his lover's cheek. "Da, mo'ee Derogoy. The Revolution was the only thing that had the power to take me from you;" One hand still at the American's cheek, Ivan moved the other from Alfred's thigh up to take his chin and turned it so the agent's bright blue eyes were once again locked on his.

"I wanted to be there when you woke, mo'ee krasivee Americanski. I am still sorry I was not." The Russian brought the American's lips to his own as he whispered his apology against them, "Isvenitye mo'ee lyoubov."

The lump rose in Alfred's throat. To the agent's frustration, he was unable to hold back the relief that poured from his eyes. His memories returning, Alfred finally knew his Russian beau had been there each time. Each time he had thought it might have been a dream, Ivan had been there waiting for him to fully wake.

The Russian, who had now turned on the bed to face his American love, continued to brush away the tears that rolled down Alfred's cheeks. Ivan's expression was worried, his jaw set, violet eyes wide with concern. "Pazhaloosta, my love, please do not cry; My heart can not take your sadness."

The American agent blinked back his tears; "I'm not sad." He pulled back and rubbed at his eyes, "Stupid tears..." Alfred continued, his eyes now red rimmed and still as watery, "I'm not sad."

The blonde took hold of his silver haired sweetheart's ever present scarf and pulling Ivan to him, Alfred grinned radiantly as ever through the tears that threatened to continue. "Thanks Vanya, Merry Christmas."

Their lips again made contact, the Russian's fingers reaching up into the American's blonde locks, as Ivan deepened their gentle kiss, careful of his love's still healing split lip. Violet eyes closed as Alfred pulled on his scarf, leaning back further onto the bed.

Moving his kiss down along his Americanski's neck, reveling in the short gasps Alfred let out, Ivan stopped to nip lightly at the agent's ear as he whispered, knowing well how his American man reacted when he spoke in Russian, "S Rozhdestvom Hristovym, Flyboy."

As the Agent and his Bolshevik deepened their love for one another through regained memories and made up for the time lost to the politics that had divided them then and was ever threatening to do so again through the long arm of the Soviet Union, the bartender's heart was wild as he held the young professor beneath the bright lights of the christmas tree. For once speechless, Gilbert listened happily as Mathew read through the diary commenting along the way.

Uptown at the assassin's elegant estate, the party had been going on for some time.

...

Romano laughed as he took aim again, "Watch-a this!" The older Vargas brother twirled his pistol, turned his back and shot over his shoulder without a backward glance.

The bullet fired into the dead center of the straw filled dummy.

Smugly, the brunette took another long draught of wine. "Thats-a right." Romano teased his Japanese friend, "Top that if-a you can!"

Kiku refused the offered revolver, instead he sized up the dummy, the materials used to make it, the base and the pole it was built on. "Arigato, Romano-kun, but I prefer the blade to the bullet; guns are too messy."

The yakuza's Italian friend shrugged and opened another bottle.

The reserved japanese mobster stepped back, held his kitana at the ready, and in the blink of an eye, in a single movement as the light of the back porch glinted on the steel for a fraction of a second, the dummy was a head shorter.

Kiku smiled turning back to his friend as he sheathed the trusty blade, the long strip of steel had served him well over the years.

The mafioso's brother rolled his eyes, "I didn't even have-a to look!"

Kiku congratulated Romano, smiling michieviously as he bowed toward the Italian. "Hai, but lets see how you do after drinking sake instead of wine." The unassuming killer strode over to his jacket and brought out the rice based alcohol.

"I'll bet you $50 I can-a do just as well." The loud mouthed brunette bragged setting his weapon down to take the offered shotglass.

"I accept that bet my friend." Kiku smiled as Romano tossed back the shot.

Inside the home, the atmosphere was slightly different. Most of the other guests the assassins had invited had now gone home or passed out and been kindly removed to one of the many guestrooms.

Jazzy versions of old christmas standards played on the radio as Feliciano spoke animatedly with Elizaveta. Roderich and Ludwig stood to the side beside the fireplace somewhat uncomfortably and made small talk about the beer Rod had provided for the party.

Ever an aristocratic gentleman, Edelstein barely showed that he'd been drinking at all,though he had kept pace with the other guests and would have swayed on his feet had he made to move across the room. Instead he had stood beside the fire, one hand to the stately mantel for some time.

As the aristocratic assassin could drink and not show it, the capo could drink quite a bit before he began to feel its effects. As Ludwig brought the glass of beer to his lips, the German's cheeks were flushed pink, his smile easier, and shoulders more relaxed; these were the only signs Ludwig showed of any intoxication.

As laughter reached them from across the room where the mafioso and his old friend were leaning on eachother and giggling as they watched out the back window, Roderich spoke up conspiratorially.

"I have a confession to make Beilschmidt." The Austrian spoke low,keeping his hand to the mantel as he leaned toward the German.

"...Ja?" Ludwig was unsure where this was going.

The host's violet eyes looked to either side, taking note that all the other guests had been removed to rooms upstairs or had gone home. "I didn't bring out the best alcohol for the party; I got a very good deal on what was served, but the best is down in the wine cellar."

The capo laughed, a further sign that his inhibitions had lowered. "Mein Gott, Roderich, if this is not a special occasion, then vhat is?" Ludwig's blue eyes shown brightly as he laughed at the other man's miserly ways.

"Hmm." For a moment it seemed the thrifty Austrian was regretting having divulged the information then all of a sudden, the brunette laughed fully. "Ja! You're right Ludwig! Come on, lets go and get it!"

Grinning far more than he would sober, the tall blonde agreed immediately and soon Feliciano watched intrigued as Ludwig and Roderich strode around the large Christmas tree in the center of the room and then disappeared down a hallway to the side.

Feli wondered briefly where they had gone, but his attention was once again taken by the scene unfolding outside as his older brother and friend, had each taken more and more shots of the rice based alcohol. Now the Italian and Japanese mobsters were both reduced to fits of giggles as each one missed their targets repeatedly and spectacularly.

Romano had just fired at the straw dummy, but hit a boulder some distance behind it causing the bullet to ricochet off the stone and head back toward them. Both men had ducked as they continued to laugh when the bullet struck the dummy from behind.

Feliciano could tell by his brother's body language through the glass windows that Romano was attempting, around his laughter, to say he that was what he had intended all along.

Elizaveta poured another glass of wine for herself and her dear friend as they laughed at the two outside.

Kiku was just tipsily advancing on the dummy when, as Feliciano brought the glass up to take a long sip of the sweet dessert wine his hungarian friend had provided, Elizaveta noticed the golden and amber cufflinks on the ends of the petite mafioso's sleeves and winking at him, she leaned in. "Thats some nice bit of jewelry, Feliciano."

"Veh~ Oh Grazie! Ludwig got them for me for Christmas!"

Her green eyes twinkled as she leaned in even more. "How are things between you? I hope the ordeal with Gilbert isn't causing any troubles."

Feliciano smiled wide, "No, its not, it seems to be ok," Caramel eyes softened under the effects of the wine and his lowered guard around his friend and best assassin, "Ludwig is so wonderful...VEH! Wait, I mean-"

But the damage had already been done, Elizaveta threw her arms around her friend, and brought the mafioso in for a tight embrace. "Oh Feliciano! I knew it! I knew it when each time I saw you he was there and then the night you were shot at the shipyard!"

"I'm so happy for you!" The hungarian assassin went on, releasing her boss and friend, "Tell me all about everything!

The mob boss sighed happily, and started from the beginning. Relieved that he could talk to his old friend, one who knew of the ill fated boys he had secretly dated in his youth; Elizaveta never judged him, instead she kept pushing him to find someone who made him truly happy and would stay with him regardless of the danger.

Now that he had, she was there for him as ever. The petite mafioso had no cause to fear she would tell a soul, and so gushed out about his feelings for his strong, handsome capo.

Just as Feliciano was telling her what his love had said as he gave him his present, they were interrupted by the reappearance of Roderich and Ludwig, who had emerged from the cellar, each man carrying cases of bottles in their arms.

The two set down the bottles of both beer and wine, and as Rod smiled and with a more carefree expression than usual, took his wife by the hand, poured her a glass, and led her to the piano in the far corner of the parlor, Ludwig sat down in the loveseat next to where Feliciano stood, no sooner had he taken his place then the mafioso jumped into his capo's arms, leaning in against one broad shoulder.

"Feliciano!" Ludwig jumped, nearly dropping his beer as he looked toward their friends at the piano. Roderich had shut off the radio and in contrast to his usual classical standards, was playing a hopping jazz number as his wife danced beside the bench.

Relaxing slightly knowing they hadn't been seen, Ludwig settled back into the cushion. "Feli, vhat are you doing?"

The slender brunette sat up on his knees, his folded elbows on his German love's broad shoulder, Feliciano whispered into Ludwig's ear, "Its ok, they already know." He continued despite the expression of shock on his capo's face. "Well, I don't know about Rod, but Lizzie does."

While the blonde's mind was full of thoughts, _how did everyone know? Romano had heard from Feli as he talked in his sleep, but Kiku had said he simply knew, how had he known then, when Ludwig hadn't even been honest with himself yet? How did Elizaveta find out, and more troubling, how did Jones know? _The strong man felt his heart go weak, his pulse quicken, as sweat broke out at his brow. Ludwig felt clammy and nauseous at the next thought. _Who else knew? How had they slipped up when he thought they had hidden things so well?_

As these troubling thoughts were chasing themselves through Ludwig's mind, his caramel eyed love was oblivious to them. Feliciano was thrilled that Elizaveta knew; that meant there was one less person from whom they had to hide their love.

The mafioso finished his glass and lightheaded and happy turned back to his serious lover. "Veh~ Whats wrong Ludwig?" The smaller man entwined his fingers around the larger hand resting beside him on the loveseat.

Warm caramel eyes looked into worried blue and to the head of foam his capo's beer was quickly losing as it sat undrunk in his hand.

Feliciano sighed, concerned he added, "It really is ok, we're around friends, and no one here will say anything to anyone!"

Ludwig's heart was still clamouring beneath his ribs. "But Feli-"

"No, no, amore mio, don't worry!" The petite mafioso brushed back mahogany locks from his eyes as he moved to straddle his sweetheart's lap and went on ignoring Ludwig's instance blush and wide blue eyes, "I don't want you to worry - its Christmas!"

The German opened his mouth to argue but was instantly silenced by the Italian's lips as Feliciano threw his arms around Ludwig's neck and kissed him passionately in the middle of the room, beside the wide glass windows.

Though the heat was now climbing up Ludwig's neck and ears, he found he couldn't help himself from kissing his petite love back, wrapping his free arm around him, and deepening Feliciano's kiss with his own.

For a heartbeat it was heaven, Ludwig forgot himself, and setting the beer down on the side table, ran one hand through smooth mahogany hair.

"Grundgütiger!" The piano had stopped playing, the Austrian swiveled on the bench, his mouth agape as the Hungarian squealed happily beside him.

"I don't believe this!" Roderich made to stand from his seat, but was hit across the head by his wife. "Shut up! Its beautiful!" Elizaveta pushed her husband back down to the bench, and though his expression was still one of shock, Roderich knew better than to argue with her.

Breaking from the kiss, Ludwig couldn't bear to look toward the other man, his sometimes friend, sometimes annoyance, instead he continued to hold his petite boss close, buried his face in Feliciano's chest and spoke low and seriously, "Do not make me shoot you Edelstien."

The Austrian scoffed, "Like I'll say anything," He shrugged as he turned back to the black and white keys, "As long as the boss is happy what do I care?"

The little cloud of tension that had thickened the air began to dissipate, each breathing a sigh of relief; Rod went back to playing the piano, this time Elizaveta sat beside him on the bench and sang along.

Suddenly Ludwig felt ridiculously light. Though the worry still plagued him that others might know, and he would have to do something about that, the truth was that he held his beloved in his arms, he was surrounded by those he could trust not to talk, and it was Christmas afterall.

Feliciano ran a hand through blonde locks, as Ludwig's face had remained buried in his chest. Though more than slightly tipsy from the wine, the mafioso worried about his German love, he knew Ludwig's nature was to be serious and concerned with anything that needed to be taken care of; it was against all his traits to simply put a problem on the back burner to be dealt with later. Feliciano was himself worried about Ludwig's brother, they had both hoped to hear something from Gilbert by now and knowing it bothered his stoic man more than Ludwig would let on, the petite Italian wanted to make sure he kept his love's mind on happier things.

It came as a surprise that Ludwig suddenly moved his face from Feliciano's chest, and looking as though he had had an epiphany for the second time that night, the capo took his boss's lips with his own, shocked to be intentionally initiating their second kiss not to be hidden behind closed doors.

Feliciano sighed into his German lover's kiss,melting into Ludwig's arms.

It was then that the wide french doors to the back opened as Romano and Kiku stumbled in red faced and laughing; the bottle of sake in one of the Italian's hands, his pistol in the other as his Japanese friend followed a step behind, the straw dummy's head held in one hand, his kitana held over his shoulder with the other.

The older Vargas brother stopped beside the loveseat where his little brother sat happily on his capo's lap. Feliciano looked up smiling at his clearly inebriated brother as Ludwig's face turned rosy again.

Romano shrugged his shoulders and leaned down, ruffling his brother's hair affectionately. "My fratello, if this-a potato eating oaf makes-a you happy," He slapped his right hand to Feliciano's left cheek, and his left to Ludwig's right simultaneously as if giving them his blessing and then laughed as he turned away, "But I will not-a be the one to tell Grandpa he will have-a no heirs!"

Feliciano laughed lightheartedly as his brother staggered away.

The hours stretched on as the six friends drank more of the expensive booze, which Roderich would later regret, sang songs in many languages, danced together in couples and as friends, and in general made merry.

It was nearing dawn when the last piece of impulsively baked cake was eaten.

Feliciano turned from the conversation he'd been having with Kiku and sighed, his heart content. The petite mobster leaned into his capo's broad shoulder and closed his eyes. "Veh~ Ludi, lets go home."

"Mmm" The blonde murmured in agreement.

As he stood, his arm around the petite Italian, Ludwig swayed on his feet. He certainly couldn't drive in this state.

The German looked around the parlor; Elizaveta leaned on her elbow now chatting with Kiku as Romano lay face down on the table, Roderich attempted to continue entertaining as his eyelids drooped in want of sleep.

"Feli, I do not think I can drive this vay." Ludwig turned his eyes to Feliciano and found it difficult to focus. The blonde blinked to clear his vision as his slight Italian grinned.

"No worries miene liebe," the boss's accent was thicker than usual on the German words as Feliciano went to the phone and called for a car.

In no time the ride was there, the mafioso and his capo said goodbye to the two assassins, as Ludwig pulled down the seats revealing the trunk from inside and loaded the boss's brother into the back before setting the seats back up for his Japanese friend.

The capo and his boss were that and that alone as they bid their Yakuza friend goodnight at his hotel and then woke the older Vargas at his home. Ludwig and Feliciano held in their affections along the drive to the mafioso's penthouse, the capo stared straight ahead as the don kept his attention on his feet.

When at last they arrived at Feliciano's building, and made their way through the lobby, past the few made men who had to work Christmas, and toward the private stair that led up to the top floor penthouse, the expressive Italian could take no more and grabbing hold of his capo's lapels, Feliciano pulled Ludwig around the corner beside the entrance to the stairs.

"Ti amo! Ti amo, Ludwig!"

"Shhh!" Though he swayed a bit and still felt the warm buzzing in his ears, Ludwig took Feliciano by the arm and ushered him quickly through the door and the more private staircase beyond it.

The petite mafioso pressed a finger to his devoted man's chest, and tried to look as serious as he could under the influence of the alcohol and the time he had spent with friends, not having to hide the love he had for the handsome capo.

"You can't 'Shh' me," The slight brunette replied as he gave up and leaned into his lover's broad chest, "I'm your boss."

Feliciano smiled smoothly up at the tall blonde as Ludwig looked down at him seriously and then broke into a full grin. "Oh, ja," The German began as he lifted his slender Italian man up into his arms. "Si signore."

All the way up the stairs, Feliciano held onto Ludwig's neck loosely, secure that though his strong man had been drinking, he would not let him fall. The boss kissed along his soldier's neck and whispered sweetly in Italian into his ear.

Ludwig sat Feliciano down on his feet once they reached the top. The blonde's heart was racing from the constant attention on the stairs; slightly dizzy, the capo struggled to keep his composure as his boss and lover took hold of the German's belt and tugged to unfasten it as the taller man continued to try to get them out of the hall and into the mafioso's rooms.

"Feli, vait." His words were useless; as Feliciano continued, simply asking why he should wait when they were the only two on the floor.

Ludwig didn't really have an answer, and as his heart quickened in his chest, his eyes began to water in the face of something so beautiful as his Feliciano's caramel eyes looking up at him as he felt the slender Italian pulling him toward the sofa as soon as they were inside the door.

Coats and scarves fell to the floor as hurried hands moved to undo buttons and loosen ties.

They passed beneath the flickering lights of the Christmas tree that danced all over the room. Feliciano climbed into Ludwig's lap as soon as he'd taken his seat.

"Veh~ I wanted to thank you for everything amore mio..." The Italian ran his hands behind the German's neck to twist themselves in the small hairs found there as his heart stopped at the bright blue eyes looking into his own.

Feliciano really could not imagine life without his devoted capo beside him; Ludwig had gotten him out of many deadly situations, he had gone to mass with him and had seemed to enjoy himself even if it was awkward for his protestant man, and, Feliciano's heart swelled with pure happiness, his serious German love had let himself go, let himself express his love, and eachtime he had, whether through words or actions, the young mafioso fell more in love.

He had said he'd never leave, that he would always be by his side as long as Feliciano would have him. Had it been a different world, a more tolerant one, he would be wearig a single ring instead of the set of cufflinks...

This was such a miraculous thing in the world of crime in which Feliciano had grown up, the world where even the cousins he had played beside as children would stab him in the back to take his place. The petite Italian knew he had to keep his family and the other four happy, he had to watch his friends, though he trusted them.

Don Vargas couldn't truly afford to trust a soul, though he had extended his trust to the few friends he had been with that night, a part of his heart that had been raised by his Grandfather warned him that even this was a bad idea. However, no such warning went off in his head or his heart when it came to the strapping blonde who held him so close.

As thier lips came together again, tongues exploring eachother's now familiar territory, hands roved up into golden hair or around a slim waist to find homes in the back of pockets, Feliciano sighed happily. He could trust Ludwig with his life. He had always been able to, and knew he always would.

Breaking for air from thier kiss, the two men held eachother for a time, both still feeling the residual effects of the alcohol they had consumed earlier. Cheeks flushed, blood warmed, lightheaded, heart racing, it was hard to tell whether their symptoms were brought on by the booze or simply one another.

Feliciano repeated himself, "Veh~Grazie for all you do for me." The boss slid from his capo's lap to fit between the taller man's long legs as he knelt on the plush crimson carpet.

As the Italian's nimble fingers deftly loosed the buttons of his German's fly he could feel the strain of Ludwig's erection through crisp white boxers. Feliciano sighed and kissed the muscular thigh beside him as he popped the last button between them and reached to free his love's already warm and hardened shaft.

The tall blonde gasped as clear blue eyes looked down into those of nearly golden caramel. He would never, never be used to the sight, the feel of his flawless Italian man, the don of all Chicago and heir to all the Italian crime syndicates, on his knees for him, giving his love to him.

What he had done to be so lucky was beyond the German capo as his petite love moved his hand along his cock, pulsing with need, and only when Feliciano took him in passed soft warm lips into his mouth, did blue eyes close and break contact with those of beloved caramel gazing up at him.

Feliciano's heart jumped knowing he had the power to make his strong man lose his composure. Feeling Ludwig's large hands cup his face and move up into his hair, the Italian moaned in pleasure as his curl was twisted smoothly around one of his lover's fingers.

Feliciano's moan hummed around Ludwig's cock as the petite brunette worked to match the motions of his hand to those of his mouth. The mafioso was delighted to hear the hitch in his capo's breath, to feel the strong hands moving through his hair to hold on tightly.

He reached in to caress his German love's balls with his free hand, knowing this to set the larger man off; Feliciano increased his speed, depth and soft swipes of his tongue as the petite Italian heard his stoic man gasp and then groan as Ludwig's hips almost bucked up into him.

The blonde clamped down on his self control with a vice-like grip. Holding on tightly to his love's silky mahogany locks, the German let his head fall back on the sofa; he knew he wouldn't be able to hold it in forever and when Feliciano's tongue teased his sensitive tip, Ludwig knew he couldn't hold his composure any longer.

"Ah, F-Feli I..."

The Italian pushed down farther, and though his jaw had begun to ache, Feliciano worked to express how much he loved his German capo, how much everything Ludwig did for him meant.

With a strangled cry low in his throat, the blue eyed man fought to open his eyes and hold on to his beloved's gaze as Feliciano looked up through long, dark lashes. His breath heavy and coming in gasps Ludwig pulled on his sweetheart's curl as he came fully and felt his love swallow around him, a feeling he would never get over.

Feliciano wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled up at his spent love. Ludwig's face was flushed, his hair thoroughly disheveled and from his hairline to the bit of his chest the pleased Italian could see, his German love glistened with sweat.

The slender mafioso slid up his strong man's legs to settle in his lap. Feliciano suddenly wanted to see so much more of his devoted soldier than the bit of his chest that peeked from the collar of his shirt.

As the German caught his breathe, the affectionate Italian unbuttoned his lover's soft brushed cotton shirt to lay his lips against the hard muscular chest he unveiled with each button loosened.

As his strong man leaned down to kiss along Feliciano's neck, the Italian pulled his lover's tie from where it had rested hanging loosely around his neck. The brunette gasped as his man's kisses moved down the front of his neck to mirror Feliciano's movements.

Ludwig hastily unbuttoned first the vest and then the black cotton dress shirt that stood between them as Feliciano wrapped his legs around his love's waist and pushed Ludwig's shirt from his broad shoulders.

The German's heart pounded in his ears, the blood rushed thoughout his body. Suddenly he knew what he had to do, something he'd never done before. Ludwig wanted to repay Feliciano, he wanted to taste him and make him writhe beneath him in the same pleasure his petite Italian had given him.

The muscular blonde held his love in his arms and dropped to his knees from the sofa to lay Feliciano down on his back against the softest carpet money could buy.

continueing to move his kisses along the slender and beloved ribcage that housed his Italian's rapidly beating heart, Ludwig reached up to remove the open shirt and vest from Feliciano's shoulders.

"No," the mafioso spoke softly as his blue eyed love looked up from where he'd been lingering over the old scar, Ludwig's eyes clouded in lust and anguish.

"Nein?"

"Veh~ the shirt!" The petite brunette clarified. "I don't want to take these off just yet." Feliciano flicked his wrist in the light from the tree as the glow sparkled from the amber and gold.

"Ah," the tall blonde breathed a sigh of relief and moved his attentions to his love's slacks instead.

Impatient as he was nervous, Ludwig unfastened the leather belt, popped the buttons, and lifting his slight man up by the hips, the German grabbed hold of each article of clothing in his way and pulled the his Italian love's pants and boxers off in one movement.

As he tossed his Feli's clothes over a shoulder and moved to take off the patent leather shoes and smooth socks as well, Ludwig's eyes never lost sight of the hardest part of the slender mobster's body.

Feliciano had wrapped his hand around himself as his capo caressed his legs and moved soft kisses up to his thighs. The petite brunette was always so enamoured with his love's attentions. He'd never stop appreciating how gentle the larger man was with him when it would be all too easy for the muscular German to be forceful.

The mafioso gasped sharply as his intense lover began to mark him as he had done on the night they had first been together. The soft ticklish flesh of his inner thigh was brought to a rosy bruise as Ludwig sucked and moved his tongue against his Italian's perfect skin.

Feliciano had no idea his strong German man was readying himself for something more.

"Veh?" Feliciano felt his hand removed from his erection as his blue eyed lover took him by his hips and with hands that would have trembled where he not so sure of his heart, Ludwig wrapped one arm around Feliciano's back, the other around his perfectly proportioned apendage.

Before he went any further, the capo looked to his boss and lover, "Is this alright?" Ludwig had never read about what to do, and was more than a bit nervous about doing something he had no practice at, nor anything to go on aside from how his Italian angel had made him feel.

Feliciano had been taken completely by surprise and blinked, his heart speeding in his chest.

"S-si."

With great care and intention the German lowered his lips onto his beloved Italian's straining cock, tasting the slight bead of precum that glistened at the tip.

He explored the shaft with strong movements of his tongue and rejoiced at the sighs, gasps and soft moans coming from his petite man as Feliciano arched his back in Ludwig's grasp.

When finally the capo took his mafioso completely into his mouth, the warmth and feeling were nearly too much for the slender Italian and Feliciano didn't have the need to keep his emotions inside and instead cried out to his love in every language he knew.

As Ludwig gripped his man by the hip and moved his hand in time with his tongue as Feliciano had to him, the brunette's heart pounded furiously as his hands scrambled to find something to hold onto.

When his strong man let loose a moan from his throat, the vibrations thrilling along the sensitive flesh in his mouth, Feliciano's hands found a place as they gripped onto his German's broad shoulders.

When finally the don felt his blood rush, leaving him dizzy and lightheaded, Feliciano cried out again, "Oh, mio Dio, amore mio!" before he dug his nails into Ludwig's shoulders as his capo took the same approach he used with his work and determined to do the job right, gave his petite love everything he could, intent on Feliciano's pleasure as his only priority.

In a wave of sensation, the Italian arched his back again, and calling his German lover's name the mafioso came in a rush that left him spent and drowsy with contentment as his capo licked the lingering drops of his beloved's ejaculate from his lips.

It had been an interesting experience for the tall blonde who now lay beside his smaller love on the carpet; a satisfying one. Ludwig sighed happily as he drew Feliciano in close with one arm.

There was nothing that made him forget his troubles like seeing the man he loved move in wanton abandon at his touch.

The German brushed the damp mahogany hair from his Italian's face. "In a moment I vill draw you bath, meine Liebe."

The mafioso watched the light play on the glass cufflinks still at his wrist as the shirt clung to his sweat drenched skin. Feliciano traced his fit man's abdominals as he sighed peacefully.

"Veh~ only if you join me."

Ludwig chuckled, and was thankful his love had the best of everything and so in contrast to the modest shower fit for one at his home, Feliciano's sunken tub should fit them both cozily.

"Ja." The capo kissed his boss's forehead and lay back against the floor.

...

As the mobsters lay happily in eachother's arms, there was a raucous party still in full swing across town at the Gold Star.

The cops had been by twice already to caution Katyusha to keep things down at such an hour on Christmas day but of course a few soft smiles from the girls, a quick agreement from the madame and the authorities were usually mollified.

By now, the dawn was just breaking, most of her patrons were upstairs, few girls still sat in the lobby chatting, laughing, and sampling the Doctor's wares, drinking the bootlegged liquer Madame Braginskaya had supplied for her guests.

Katyusha sat on the front desk across from the front door, she twisted the coral beads in her fingers as she shifted on her hip to rest on her elbow on the desk toward the Englishman who leaned against it.

Green eyes looked her over from beneath prominent brows. Dr. Kirkland took a long drag from the joint he held loosely and blew the smoke in rings above them both.

Katyusha took a sip from the glass of her favorite drink, an imported sparkling wine from Odessa. The light bubbling flavour reminded her of better days when her family had all been together and the revolution hadn't divided her siblings.

The Brit was clearly tipsy and he waggled his brows at the busty broad leaning in close. Arthur lifted the martini Kat had made him earlier. It was his sixth. "Cheers Doll."

His words and attentions lifted her spirits; the Ukrainian madame smiled easily and swooped her legs from beneath to sit up on the desk and scooted over closer to the attentive dealer. "Boo'deem zdrovye!"

Blue eyes sparkled with the reflection of the bubbles in the light gold wine in her glass as Katyusha gave no care to what her younger brother had warned. Ivan wasn't here. She was overboldened by Arthur's ability to shrug off the threat. She was a grown woman, her business boomed, she deserved to give her affection to anyone she desired.

The taller madame reached to take the rolled herb from the Englishman's lips and brought it her own.

It was probably the sexiest thing the British drug dealer had ever seen.

"Alright dollface?" Arthur grinned as he reached into his inside jacket pocket, pulling out another joint for himself, and moved closer to his blue eyed bird. "For you, its always on the house."

As Katyusha inhaled the relaxing herb and breathed out the smoke, laughing lightly as she tried to form the rings the more practiced man had done so effortlessly, Arthur laid his hand on the taller woman's silk-hosed calf, then turned toward her, placing both elbows on either of her knees to look up chuckling into blue eyes. Reminding himself to be a gentlemen, the British dealer didn't allow his eyes to linger on her ample bosom too long, as he took another long drag and showed the madame how to form her lips just right to make the ethereal rings.

Natalya rolled her eyes from her seat in one of the many fainting couches arranged around the lobby. The empty headed prattle from her sister's employees was nearly as nauseating to her as the display between Katyusha and the Brit the younger sister still didn't trust.

There was something about him...how he could sell in little Italy unseen...

It was impossible. Natalya knew first hand that Don Vargas' mafia had eyes all over their territory. This only left the fact that Dr. Kirkland had to have a deal of some kind with the Italians. What it was, the Belarussian was determined to find out.

The hour ticked by as the sun just started to rise,the faintest hint of weak pink light on the snow outside.

Natalya hadn't moved from her place. Her thoughts spun in complicated webs as she watched her sister spin and giggle as she danced without a care with the shorter green eyed man, the music blaring from the record player. The couple shared a single joint, each far from the worries of reality which the cold, calculating, and sober, sister held in the forefront of her mind.

Just as the pale haired woman was contemplating how she could get her sister's Englishman alone in order to get the information from him one way or another, an echoing bang sounded from outside the front door.

Natalya jumped, as Katyusha and Arthur stopped dancing, the girls who had passed out in the lobby woke with a start.

The loud knock resounded again through the room.

The Ukrainian rushed to the door, trying to look presentable and not the least intoxicated as her British man moved fast to hide all evidence of booze, and to fan the sweet smelling smoke toward one open window in the back.

Natalya stood against the wall beside the door as her sister opened it slowly.

"Merry Christmas officers," Katyusha began her practiced response, but was stopped as the men at the door interupted.

"We're not with Chicago's...finest," The men in crisp plain suits each brought a badge from the inside of their coats as their appraisal of the city's police force was clear. "We're with the bureau of investigation ma'am. I believe you'll recall a few days ago when one of our agents stopped by."

The tall blonde madame felt cool lead drop to her stomach and freeze her blood. They had convinced the other agent that Natalya had gone home to Belarus. Kat hadn't wanted to lie for her sister, but she also was afraid what would happen if she didn't.

Her throat suddenly dry as sand, the Ukrainian motioned to her British beau from behind the door. She pointed to the sister and then waved her fingers in the direction of the side parlor.

The madame hoped beyond hope that the dealer took her little sister to the correct room, the one with the panel she used to hide the girls she employed who hadn't exactly followed legal immigration laws to get there when the fuzz came around, as they did from time to time, asking for work permits for the "maids" at her hotel.

"Well, Ms. Braginskaya?" One man asked as he moved his way inside just as Arthur disappeared through the door at the side of the room.

"Da," Katyusha replied, willing the buzzing to leave her head so she could think clearly, "I met with your agent, and I told him my sister had already gone back to Belarus." She smiled sweetly, "I believe Agent Jones said I was not to blame for my delusional sister's actions, yes?"

"Thats right miss," One agent said as he looked over Katyusha's two girls seated beside the fire dubiously as his partner continued, "But we've had a tip off from the boys in blue that someone fitting Miss Arlovskaya's description was seen here tonight, or last night rather."

_Of course, the cops from earlier. _Katyusha knew only the fugitive who had abducted one of thier own could get the federal agents out before dawn on Christmas day.

"I don't know what to say," Katyusha began, fighting to keep her panic at bay, "She is not here, I swear it!"

The agents moved around the room and drew closer to the door Arthur had just run through with Natalya.

"Then you won't mind if we have a look around will you Ms. Braginskaya?"

Katyusha stood stock still in the middle of the lobby; her eyes ran to the door and back to the agent who's hand was outstretched toward the knob. "Nyet, I mean, no. No of course not."

The madame prayed that her plan would go off without a hitch. She followed behind the agents as they opened the parlor door.

"'Ello chaps."

The doctor stood beside the fireplace, one hand in his pocket, the other draped over the mantle. "'Not bothering my Kat are you, gents?"

Katyusha's breathe stuck in her throat. Was the English dealer crazy? What did he think he was doing? The statuesque madame stood in the doorway, blue eyes wide as the feds recognized Arthur and patted the Brit down, and had him turn out his pockets.

"Rumours and lies boys, its all just rumours and lies." Arthur's green eyes were wide with feigned innocence. "You got any proof?"

Katyusha looked on as miraculously no illicit substances were found on the dealer, when she knew he usually carried quite a lot on his person, always ready to make a sale if the occasion arose.

As the agents reluctantly left the Brit alone and looked once more around the room, Katyusha walked fully in and stood tall beside her brave and reckless gentleman.

The agents wandered around the hotel; it was by sheer luck that Katyusha convinced them not to bother her guests in their rooms. Finally when the agents had combed nearly all of the brothel's rooms including the basement with the blood stains and overturned chairs still on the floor, the two men conceded that thier fugtive wasn't there.

With a warning to both the madame and the dealer, that they would be watched and if either had information they knew where to take it, the federal agents left.

Katyusha sighed a sigh of relief as she closed and locked the door behind her before she and Arthur went to move the hidden panel that had shielded the murderous younger sister from the authorities.

"Arthur," the taller woman asked as they made thier way from the lobby to the parlor, "how is it they didn't find anything on you? I was sure you would be arrested."

The Brit grinned up at the Ukrainian, her concern warming his heart. The dealer had had few people care about him and whether he went to prison. "Don't worry dollface, this isn't my first dance with the law." Arthur lifted his feet, one foot then the other showing the soft packets of green herbs, and white powder. He pulled the seam of the lining on the hem of his wide leg slacks and out fell the syringes of milky opium.

Katyusha shook her head in awe as she moved the wall back, "I am impressed, Arthur."

Natalya stepped from the hole in the wall, the hidden passage throught the brothel.

She had had time to formulate a plan as she waited for the feds to leave, and now she flung her arms around both her sister and the confused British man.

"Spasiba sestra!" Natalya turned the eyes she had always reserved for her brother to Katyusha and the shorter blonde beside her. "And thank you Arthur," Natalya sang sweetly, "I was wrong about you! Let me make it up to you, my new friend!"

Taken by surprise, the Brit was shocked to see the change that had come over Katyusha's younger sister. "Um, right...ok?"

Moments later Arthur had a fresh drink in his hand, this one a gin and tonic, heavy on the gin. The music played again, and as Natalya sipped her own drink slowly, she smiled, her expression as sweet as melting sugar as her older sister and the dealer laughed together, chatted and tipsily danced again as the sun's weak rays began to creep along the side walk and as time went by, edged along the bottom of the window sill.

When the empty glasses outnumbered the hour of the morning, and her sister leaned drowsily in the Brit's arms, the man had been talking to something that clearly wasn't there and had just slurred a merry christmas and goodnight to the imaginary flying creature as Natalya decided to make her move.

First she had made him vulnerable through drink, and now she would get him to loose his lips to her benefit. Natalya kneeled beside where Arthur sat as her sister fell asleep on his arm.

"You sell in little Italy." She decided on a direct approach, "What kind of a deal do you have with Vargas, Dr. Kirkland?" Natalya asked sweetly, though her honeyed words dripped with poison.

"Wha? Don' be silly, 'ow would I sell in lil' Italy?" The Englishman's green eyes were unfocused and he suppressed a hiccup as he looked away. Natalya moved closer, leaning over the intoxicated blonde.

"You do...I know you do." Her words were more icy now, as she went on, intent on getting her information before the man could give in to the seduction of sleep. "But you're not afraid are you?"

"I dunno what you're talk'n about." The drowsy Brit was beginning to get agitated. This suited Natalya's purposes splendidly.

"Oh yes you do," She tossed long strands of pale hair over her shoulder while pulling a small pin knife from her laced high heeled boot. "I know you do. You sell on Vargas turf. In order to do that and live you must have a deal with them...yet here you are, in with thier enemies. You must have dirt on that Italian, and you're going to give it to me"

Arthur sat up, Katyusha's head falling to his lap, luckily she didn't wake.

"Now look here-" He began before the knife was suddenly at his throat. Arthur gulped. It seemed Kat's loony sister had found him out, found out he'd been sent to spy on them, to watch for Jones back when they had had a pact of their own. Not only this, but she knew he had something on the Don.

Arthuer wasn't about to give that juicy tidbit up, not if he wanted to live. That the mafioso and his favourite capo were more than chummy was his meal ticket, to be turned in when he determined.

_Stiff upper lip, man. Stiff upper lip. _The former doctor tried to clear his head but found he'd had far too much to drink, Green eyes looking down his nose at the blade held to his neck, the Brit thought fast.

"No need to be hasty there, Nat..."

"Do not address me so informally, I do not care about you, I do not trust you," Arlovskaya leaned over him and whispered her words for him alone. "But you have been useful, and I will use you again."

The gin had worked to embolden the dealer and he moved again, scooting up against the back of his seat. The knife dug into the soft flesh of his neck as Arthur spoke again, his words tumbling angrily from his mouth; the alcohol in his system loosening his lips as the blood rushed to his head with his temper.

"Look, I don' know wha' the bloody hell you're on about! I 'aven't made a deal with that Italian, not a chance!" He'd just have to be convincing, Arthur told himself, which wasn't hard as he remembered the last meeting he'd had with Vargas and his damn muscle and his blood boiled with indignation.

"I'm Arthur bloody Kirkland, Dr. Kirkland to you, I'm well fucking known on my own! No way I'd make a deal with that Italian or that bleedin' kraut git he's always hanging all over!"

Natalya's eyes went wide. Steel blue cooled to the hue of her blade as the dangerously mad woman pulled her weapon from the Brit's neck. A tight smile spread across her face; it had the effect of jackal overlooking it's next meal. _The capo and his boss? Of course._

The belarussian couldn't believe she hadn't seen it herself. Natalya whispered a distant "Spasiba Kirkland, spasiba" as she stood, the taste of this deadly new information sweet on her tongue.

Arthur's mouth went dry. _What had he just said? _The words played back in his head as he continued to fight the urge to pass out that had been trying to claim him since before his dishy bird's mad sister came in.

He'd just royally fucked up, the realization hit him hard like a weight to his chest. He was a dead man. He'd be at the bottom of the river if the mobsters found out he'd talked, that he'd let loose their secret to the Italian's most dangerous enemy.

Arlovskaya looked down at her sister's inebriated beau. He was still far too awake for her taste. She couldn't have him following her and trying to spoil the plan she was even now forming.

She walked smoothly around behind the Brit as he tried to argue weakly, saying she hadn't understood, that it wasn't what he'd meant.

The drug dealer's panicked and slurred words only gave certainty to what he had let loose.

"Do you not think it is time to sleep ?" Natalya's fingers wrapped around a decorative paper weight on the front desk as she had walked the lobby to stand behind the shorter blonde who struggled to turn around to face her without waking the sleeping madame in his lap.

Before the Brit could get more out than, "Wha the bloody-?" The belarussian smiled sweetly and pulled back to hit him cleanly over the head.

The mouthy Englishman slumped forward, out cold.

The younger sister considered it the height of affection for her older sister as she checked the dealer pulse. She would let him live, why not? A gift for his usefullness.

The sociopathic Belarussian whistled to herself, the tune the same as she had hummed on her way to the basement two days previously.

Striding purposefully toward the door, she threw on her coat.

_So the Mafioso and his capo..._ Natalya's small smile was merciless. The other families would find this information very interesting, and very valuable.

It seemed she had found her weapon, the thing that would cause the Italians to tear eachother apart, and leave her to pick up the reigns of her new city.

All she had to do was get proof.

The Belarussian stepped out into the snow, closing the door behind her, greeting the sun as it peaked over the horizon. An auspicious omen, the pale haired woman thought to herself confidently. The dawn of her new rule over Chicago's crime scene.

...End of Ch 15...

_Ta~da and dun dun dun._

_I hope you liked this as much as I did writing it, though, oh my god are my fingers tired from typing! _

_Next chapter: well, the storm hits. I will try my very very hardest not to take so long next time! This month I had a confernce, three different presentations, papers, and work work work._

_Ok, ok, off to paint I go!_

_Oh – one more thing: I'm now on Tumblr: www. ratsister . tumblr. com (unspace the spaces you know) So if you too Tumble, Come follow me, I'll follow you, we'll go in circles! I'm already having a blast with my tumblr buddies! 3_

_Your Reviews: I hunger for them! Hunger...for them (: Bitte? Pazhaloosta? Per favore?  
_


	16. Chapter 16

_Wow, it has been a long time! I'm so sorry for the wait my dear sweet precious readers! Sincere thanks for sticking with me! I do assure you that as long as I have breathe and hands with fingers to type and a mind to plan, I will never abandon a story. _

_Its been one crazy month. Whew. Thesis and grad school in general, home-life stresses, you know life. LOL._

_I won't go on and on, but get right to the story!_

_This Chapter is all about brothers and the complicated realationships between siblings. Especially when as complex and intertwined as this._

_Its a long one, (apologies!) So the translations to the German, Italian and Russian thats new will be at the end of each scene. _

_To xXDamned ForeverXx, who predicted a "shitstorm" your word choice could not have been more apt. I really hope you enjoy, all of you. _

_Oh, and Haruka: You'll be happy to know I got a whole 6 hours of sleep last night! Almost unprecedented! XD  
_

_My SINCEREST of apologies for the wait. I promise the only gift I can give you is at the end in my ending A/N_

_Oh! and I made my first ever video! An 'Its just business' vid of course! (Danke meine schwester, AbbyGreenEyes for your technological expertise!)_

_you can see it here: http: / www. youtube. com/ watch?v= YebEB8eeADE (unspace the spaces of course)  
_

**Chapter 16**

_Christmas Day, 1920. Mid Morning _

The elder Vargas brother sat at his desk, hungover from the raucous party the night before, or rather earlier that morning. In one hand, he held a letter, tapping the corner of the unopened envelop on the hard wood of his desk. His head was held in the other,elbow propped onto the sturdy desk.

Romano cursed his throbbing head as he thought of the job he had to do, to bump off the agent. Things had come to this because he'd been unable to take care of the situation before, unable to secure Jones' brother for leverage, then when it seemed that Belarussian was doing their work for them, Gilbert had seen to rescuing that puttana Canadian and his brother.

_Gilbert..._

Romano's brow furrowed darkly as he closed his eyes tight against the pain of his headache and thought about the German bartender. Why he'd thought they had had so much in common, could have had a good time together...

The mobster shook his aching head slowly; just what did that boring, ordinary, fucking professor have that he didn't? He name was Romano Vargas, there was no one who refused him, nothing he couldn't do.

But it had been clear, clear as day, that the capo's brother loved the agent's. Romano had been there across the street when Gilbert had shown up with that Russian to rescue Jones and his brother from the Gold Star. Romano had seen the pale man's face, his expression one of absolute loyalty, love, gratitude and and almost religious determination to never let anything happen to the Canadian again...he'd watched as the bartender carried the unconscious man away from the scene.

The tempestuous brunette now knew the taste of rejection, of knowing he'd lost so thoroughly to someone so undeserving. He stopped tapping the letter on his desk; resisted the urge to ball it up and throw it away.

There was a good chance when he showed up at the agent's apartment, Jones would not be alone. The chances were good his brother would be there, that Russian beau of his would as well. Romano was prepared for that. He was prepared. He knew the likelihood was strong that he'd have to find a way to either knock out or to distract the man he'd been trying to woo so that Gilbert wouldn't see a thing. He'd been thinking of a way to get him away from the apartment, but had been unable to come up with a fool proof idea so far.

Gilbert would have to be neutralized somehow; he couldn't be a witness...Romano looked to the door of his office and thought about his Japanese friend who had promised to help plan their next move. If all else failed, the angry brunette thought to himself, he'd have Kiku go in secretly after all were asleep, blindfold and take the albino German somewhere far from the scene.

Romano knew after he carried out the assignment his younger brother had given him, there would be no hope for a future with Gilbert. Whatever tiny sliver of a chance there may have been would be stamped out with his bullets.

Maybe the whole thing had been folly, just a passing phase...

Romano opened his eyes in the dark room, the only illumination coming from between the blinds of the large picture window. Rays of weak winter light fell across the desk to light up the envelop in his hand.

Maybe it was time he forgot about the pale haired man...

the Italian stared at the letter that had come the day before from so far away, he began to tear the corner of the envelop when the ringing of the phone interrupted his thoughts.

Still holding the letter, Romano sat up straight in his leather seat. Dropping his hand from his pounding headache, he rushed to end the god awful ringing that shot through his temples like a jackhammer through pavement.

"Che cosa?" He answered impatiently.

The man on the other line chuckled lightly before answering. "Romano-kun, how are you feeling?"

"Kiku, you bastardo," The don's brother laughed, "What-a the hell did you have me drink?"

As his Japanese friend laughed again and the two chatted for a moment about the events of the night before, Romano continued to stare at the letter in his hand, then the gun laying on his desk.

"Say, Kiku, " The Italian interrupted his friend who was informing him of how he'd arrived back home. "You know Feliciano doesn't want anything done on-a the holy day, but I'm in a hurry to put this all-a behind me. How about we take out this-a agent Jones for good as soon as midnight comes around, huh?" Romano closed his eyes again, thinking he'd have to get rid of this headache first, "that is if you still want in on it?"

"Hai," Kiku continued on the other line, "I will come there to help you plan. In regard to your headache, have you tried acupressure?"

Romano leaned back in his seat, propping his feet up on the desk. "Kiku, I don't know what-a the hell that is, but I will-a try anything to get-a rid of this fucking pain."

He chuckled, as laughing fully was too much; and after hanging up the phone as his friend prepared to come help him plan the hit, Romano's attention returned to the letter in his hand.

The man, so well known for his temper looked over the white envelope cautiously. His eyes roving over the ink of the name on the paper, written in red. The stamps in the corner with words in Spanish.

He closed his eyes while ripping the letter open.

_Forget about him._ _He's just a potato-eating German bastardo...Let him have that fucking Canadian..._

Romano tried to do as he advised himself and attempted to put the image of the pale haired man from his mind as he read over Antonio's words.

…..

While the mobster was writing a return letter to the man in Madrid, the Russian Captain was tossing in his sleep. The sun shown through agent Jones' bedroom window down onto the sleeping couple but its light could not penetrate into the bolshevik's dreams.

_Gun shots. Smoke, he waded through the smoke, the haze, the unnatural fog. All around him men were dead and dying. Boots that stepped over the rubble of his city, pieces of once great statues, marble faces upturned as though judging him for his actions against their descendants..._

_A voice called out to him. The captain turned, his rifle loaded, the bayonet crimson with his own countryman's blood. A figure moved through the fog, blackish silhouette against the ruined cityscape. _

"_Кtо tам?" He asked, his weapon at the ready, his arms weary of war._

_A sound as the shadowed silhouette moved closer, but not in words he understood. _

_The dark figure disappeared into the ground, the wind picked up and turned against him. on the wind he heard the voices of men. men he had seen die, men he had killed and men he had fought alongside. _

_Blood coursed through his body, but it was as ice, the captain turning in place as the wind swept around him, blaming him, cursing him, calling out for help that never came..._

"_Cherti chtob vzyali! Prosti menya!" He called out to the dead._

_A new voice broke through the wind. A familiar voice, but one he couldn't place. So like another, but different. He looked for the speaker but saw no one past the wind._

"_Ivan?" The voice called his name. "Ivan?" _

Suddenly the wind was gone, the judgement of the dead now only an echo in his mind. The bright sun disorienting as it shown through the window. He blinked in the light, sitting up and reaching for a gun that wasn't there.

"Ivan?"

He turned toward the sound and blinked several times to clear his mind and bring a name to the familiar face now peering down at him in concern but also understanding. Alfred...no, not Alfred. He could feel his lover's body next to his without turning to look. Alfred's brother. Mathew.

"Mathew. I am sorry, I was having a …bad dream." The broad Russian sat up fully in the bed he shared with the American agent.

"Its alright," His love's twin brother put down the tray he was carrying on the side table. Two plates of pancakes, dripping in maple syrup, sides of bacon, sausage, and slices of fruit. Two glasses of coffee sat on the tray and filled the room with the delicious scent of morning..

"Spasiba." Ivan thanked the man he had come to regard as a brother in such a short time, "You did not have to make breakfast." The Russian reached for the steaming cup of coffee, willing its strength to drive away the echos of his nightmare.

The professor shrugged. "Its no trouble, and its Christmas afterall." The blonde turned with a smile and picked up a second tray he had left sitting on the dresser as he opened the door with his foot, backing out into the hall. "Besides, food is just about the only thing that'll wake him up when he's got a day off."

As though he were unconsciously aware that he was being talked about, Alfred rolled in his sleep to fling a leg over Ivan's and an arm across his lap. The Russian brushed a hand through his love's golden hair absentmindedly as he watched Alfred's brother nudge the other bedroom's door open.

Mathew disappeared into the room at the end of the hall with a cheery "Guten morgen!" Ivan looked away as he could see Gilbert stirring awake, one pale leg moving on the blanket as Matt closed the door with a socked foot.

The Russian's violet eyes turned to the sleeping face of his beloved American. The date hung heavy in Ivan's mind as he looked over Alfred's cherubic expression. Surely his love was dreaming pleasant dreams.

It was December 25th, Christmas. In only 5 days Ivan was due back in Moscow for his trial. He'd promised Alfred he would not go, but the cheka were still out there somewhere.

_If they want to get to me, they have too many ways...too many weaknesses to exploit..._ Ivan knew the cheka would not hesitate to go after Alfred or his sisters..._sister._

He reminded himself that he only had one sister he would claim now, Katyusha; and she would be in danger.

The word was Natalya had in fact returned to Belarus; Ivan wanted to believe that, or that at least she had gone to Paris with the other escaped and exiled tsarists. His heart still ached to have disowned her, all the more for why he had had to do so, what she had done and tried to do. The bolshevik captain's expression darkened, his thoughts weighing as heavily upon him as lead.

Alfred moved in his sleep again, rubbing his head against Ivan's side. Suddenly the Russian's worried expression eased and was replaced by a slight smile as his capitalist lover mumbled incoherently.

The violet eyed man took a sip of coffee before bending low to kiss his sleeping man awake.

"Mmmm..Vanya, wha the...time's it?" Alfred mumbled as he moved in against his Russian love, laying his head in the other man's lap.

Ivan tried to push the worries of the looming court date, as well as the worries for his sister out of his mind. At least for now. For now he would focus on his time with Alfred, because, he thought darkly, if the cheka had their way, it would be limited.

"It is time to wake up, moi lyubovnik." The pale haired man reached for a strip of bacon and waved it enticingly in front of his sweetheart's face. "Your brother made breakfast."

Alfred shot up straight awake. "Mattie made Christmas breakfast? Pancakes!" The American's grin was radiant, lighting up his entire face. Ivan chuckled and smiling broader himself at his love's enthuisiam while the best agent the B.O.I had leaned across his chest to reach the plate and coffee his brother had brought them.

…...

_Кtо tам: Who's there?_

_Cherti chtob vzyali! Prosti menya!: Devil take you! Forgive me!_

...

The government man and his bolshevik love were not the only ones awakening late on the lazy holiday morning. Across town the snow lay thick and virginal below Don Vargas' penthouse. The bustling city was quiet as most Chicagoans were at home sharing Christmas with their families.

The young mafioso lay on his side propped up on one elbow, his back to the large plate glass window so many stories above ground. Caramel eyes looked down softly onto the broad shouldered man who lay asleep next to him.

His capo lay on his back, one arm up and covering his face as though shielding out the white light of the winter sun.

Feliciano had fallen asleep in the same black cotton dress shirt he'd worn to mass the day before, though it hung open from his shoulders, he had not squirmed out of it in his sleep. The slender brunette toyed with the cufflinks his capo had given him yesterday. A peaceful smile crossing the mob boss's face.

The Italian sighed as he reluctantly unfastened the symbols of his man's love and rolled over to put them on the side table as he shrugged out of his shirt. All but one.

One he kept in his hand,and when he returned to laying beside his slumbering capo, Feliciano trailed the piece of jewelry lightly across Ludwig's broad chest. The brunette watched as the stark sunlight lit up the amber glass and sparkled along the gold within. The petite mafioso was reminded of his German lover's words and smiled, sighing happily.

"Veh~" Feliciano breathed his sigh against the blonde's muscular chest as he leaned in to rest his chin on his beloved.

The Capo stirred in his sleep; removing the arm from across his face, Ludwig's brows furrowed for a moment before relaxing once again as sleep kept its hold.

The smaller man sat up and moved beneath the covers to straddle his taller love. Feliciano was pleased to see the corner's of his capo's lips turn up in his sleep as he climbed up and settled at Ludwig's hips a low _'mmmm...'_ escaped from deep in the sleeping man's throat.

The Italian leaned forward and rested his forearms on his German's chest, still toying with the cufflink; he trailed it in circles around well defined pectorals.

Slowly, blue eyes began to open and blink in the light of the morning. Strong arms were up and resting on each side of the slender Italian's hips in moments as Ludwig woke fully.

"Buongiorno!" Feliciano grinned brightly, caramel eyes alight, reflecting the gold in the cufflink he now twirled between two fingers.

The capo's heart sped at the feeling of his boss's body settled so seductively against his own. While Ludwig had fallen asleep in his boxers, his Feli was, as usual, perfectly nude. As the Italian's hips rested on his own; the German could feel his erection stirring, causing his underwear to suddenly be far too tight. From the heavily lidded eyes his love was casting him, Ludwig could tell Feliciano was feeling the same way.

Usually to lay in bed with his love so late in the morning would only be inviting trouble, but Ludwig thought to himself, _It is Christmas, there will be no calls for Feli today, and no one will bother us..._

The blonde held onto the brunette's hips and rolled over, reversing their positions. "Buongiorno Signore." Ludwig whispered with a rare easy smile. Seemingly free of concern, the capo took his boss's chin in hand, his kiss silencing the mafioso's giggles that had come with the German's accented Italian words.

It was as the strapping blonde moved soft kisses down his slender brunette's neck that it happened.

A sudden flash from the window, reflected in the mirror on the opposite side of the room with a puff of smoke.

Both men turned instinctively toward the source of the sudden flash. There, standing in a painters landing, was a man. A man with a camera.

As the unknown photographer realized he'd been seen and scrambled to lower his platform, The capo had lept off his boss and wrapped Feliciano in the blanket as they both rushed from the room.

Ludwig's heart raced in panic against his ribs. The tall blonde wasted no time as he ran through the living area and out the front door and was already taking the steps to the roof two at a time, as his love was still hurriedly putting on pants and looking for his pistol.

When the Italian caught up to his German man, Ludwig was leaning over the edge of the roof, standing barefoot in the snow and still clad only in his crisp white boxers. The strong capo turned the crank on the pulley that would bring the platform, and the man on it, up to them.

Feliciano was still wrapped in the blanket, though he had thrown on the pants he'd worn last night and a pair of house shoes which were already becoming soggy from the snow. He reached up to drape Ludwig's long black wool coat over his shoulders.

The tall blonde nodded his appreciation to his sweetheart and still working the crank, he switched arms until the coat was on.

"Veh~ Ludwig, your feet..." Feliciano sighed, worried.

If his German love had heard his love's concern, he didn't show any sign, instead he reached over the roof farther, nearly doubling over the ledge. When he straightened, Ludwig was pulling the mysterious man over onto the roof by his collar. Holding the struggling man off the ground, the capo immediately confiscated the camera and passed it back behind him to his beloved don.

"Who are you? Who sent you?" The blonde shook his captive, tightening his hold on the collar of the man's coat.

The unknown man shook his head and begging to be let down, admitted to nothing.

Ludwig shook him more violently, anxious thoughts racing through his mind. _He'd been taking photographs. Why else would he be there to take photographs unless someone suspected them...someone important enough to pay for evidence of their relationship. _

Feliciano moved to stand beside the taller German, placed one cold hand in Ludwig's pocket, he scanned the man for any identifying characteristics.

The blue eyed capo was quickly losing any semblance of patience. "I vill ask you again. Who sent you?"

Ludwig took a few steps forward, back toward the edge of the roof; he leaned the man over the street so very far below.

Still the man would not name his employer, but looked both directions with panicked eyes as he pled for his life.

Feliciano stepped up closer; while the capo held the panicked photographer over the ledge, the mafioso reached into the man's jacket pocket.

"Veh~ I thought so." The slender Italian looked gravely up at his ruthless and devoted love as he held the man's wallet in his hands; it was open to a stack of business cards. "He's a P.I, Ludwig."

"A private eye, hmm?" The blonde pressed the man farther over the ledge. "You vill tell us who paid you."

The private investigator was panic stricken, and clearly he hoped talking might save him. Finally with a last look over his shoulder at the distance to the ground, he spoke. "A foreign woman;... Arlovskaya! But I-I won't tell a soul what I saw, just let me live!"

"You say you vill not tell a soul." Ludwig peered at the man coldly. "Tell me, do you know who this is?" He nodded his head toward Feliciano.

"Yeah, of course I do;" The man responded, turning to face the petite mafioso. "F-Feliciano Vargas, I-I mean you no disrespect sir!"

Feliciano simply looked on at the man, his warm caramel eyes as cold as the winter sun, tinged with a hint of regret.

Ludwig continued to hold the private investigator out over the street. "I do not believe that. If that vas so, you vould never have taken the job." He continued, feeling his love's hand find its way back into his coat pocket. "Do you know vhat I believe? I believe you now have some very valuable information." The muscular blonde reached one hand to tear the rope on the pulley which caused the platform below to drop on one side, hanging uselessly by only one end.

Ludwig continued as the man in his grasp looked to the damaged pulley, eyes wide with fear. "Und I believe you vould sell that information to the highest bidder. The German's eyes went to slits of malice.

As the P.I shook his head from side to side and promised he wouldn't reveal a thing, the petite mafioso stepped forward, "Veh~" He sighed with pity, "I am sorry, but we can't take that chance." The man's eyes widened further as he realized his doom when the Don continued with softly spoken words, "I'm sure you understand."

The man changed his tactic instantly, "B-but you can't just drop me, its broad daylight, It'll be a mess; the fuzz'll be all over the place!"

The tall blonde looked over the man he held out past the ledge with ice blue eyes. "Accidents tend to happen vhen a man valks on a slippery und snowy roof."

Feliciano's eyes left the private investigator's terrified expression as his capo released the man's lapels.

The mobsters stood still silently as the sound of the scream ended in a faraway thud on the sidewalk.

Ludwig turned back to his petite Italian, as Feliciano handed him the camera. "Veh, amore mio, I'll have to tell the men downstairs about that; I'm sure the cops will be here soon." The babyfaced mafioso smiled up at his beloved capo, "At least mine is the tallest building, so no one saw how he fell!"

"Ja." Ludwig was deep in contemplation. Arlovskaya...that Belarussian had been able to cause far too much trouble; it was time she disappeared. Furthermore, it seemed that everyone could see through the facade he and Feliciano had worked so hard to maintain...The tall blonde's thoughts raced anxiously through his mind.

The mood had changed drastically for the mafioso and his capo as the two men descended the stairwell from the roof back to Feliciano's penthouse. Ludwig's feet only now began to burn from the snow he'd been standing in, as his adrenaline receded. Placing a hand at the small of the Italian's back, the German held his lover close, knowing this Christmas would not be the quiet day it had seemed.

Natalya Arlovskaya needed taking care of.

However, more urgent matters forced themselves on the two men as they emerged from the stairway into the hall. The sound of the elevator rattling in the shaft broke the silence of the floor.

Feliciano looked over his shoulder at his beloved capo. No one could know Ludwig was here! How could they explain his presence, let alone that he was here in the hallway wearing nothing but boxers and a coat?

The capo needed no urging from his worried boss, Ludwig spared only a second to look to Feliciano before running past the elevator doors as they began to open, sliding a bit on his heels as he turned toward the door, slamming it open with a shoulder just as the elevator bell rang, the doors slid open and the Don's made men burst out, weapons at the ready.

Rapid Italian filled the hall as Feliciano informed the men how he had caught a spy hired by the Belarussian just as he was waking; this was who they had seen falling past the window. As the petite mafioso was given a jacket to replace the blanket and ordered his men back down to deny any knowledge of the man's death when the police inevitably arrived, his German capo was standing in his love's kitchen, holding the negative exposures up to the light.

The camera lay broken on the floor at his feet.

Ludwig's blood ran cold. The image was clear; the private eye had gotten a very valuable shot indeed. There he was, in bed with his boss, their lips locked together. What he held in his hands had the power to kill them both.

The blonde lowered the roll of film, full of incriminating evidence that their relationship was much more than platonic. A photo of his car parked in the back as the sun rose behind it, images of the other rooms visible through the windows and the little things no one would think to hide. two glasses on the table or the haphazard way clothes had been left as they were pulled from bodies in the throes of passion.

_Could they hide this way forever?_ Ludwig thought to himself as he destroyed the photos and disposed of the broken machine that had nearly been their downfall. _Could they hope to stop all who would suspect something when neither married? When he had nearly lost his composure when Feliciano had been shot by that Lithuanian? How long could their friendship be enough of an excuse for how often they met?_

As the don commanded the men outside in the hall, his capo dressed. Ludwig knew there would be many more moments when death would threaten to snatch his Feli from him...He knew there would be more enemies who would suspect the truth...

Ludwig had vowed to protect his Feliciano, and he would with his life.

A rare moment of uncertainty shook the strong man. _Was it too much? Was their love to be the death of them? How could they keep their relationship a secret while fighting rival mobs, the feds, and within the families themselves? And while they were young now, what could they say when, in their thirties neither had settled down with a girl? At their ages of 20 and 21, could they even keep their secret that long? _

These thoughts haunted the capo's mind as he dressed and loaded his gun. Necessity dictated stealth, so he would have to take the pistol instead of the gleaming new tommy gun his love had given him.

By the time Feliciano returned, Ludwig had dressed and was just taking his scarf from the coffee table where it had laid since the night before.

Before the Italian could say more than "Ludw-" he was being enveloped in his German's strong arms and held close.

The slender brunette moved to rest his chin against the blonde's chest and looked up into serious blue eyes. "There was something on the film?"

The capo simply nodded, his expression all the mafioso needed to know the extent of how close they had come.

"Veh" Feliciano sighed and moved again in his love's arms, now hearing the larger man's heart as it kept a rapid beat.

The room was silent as both men shared the same thought, the very ones that had weighed on Ludwig's mind since seeing the negatives under the kitchen light.

_How could they hope to never be found out? _

Neither man was willing to give up the love they shared, and an odd resignation was falling around them, thickening the air. _Someday they would be._

Breaking the silence, Ludwig lifted Feliciano's chin. Blue eyes poured into warm caramel with intensity. "I vill go and case out the Gold Star."

Feliciano turned to kiss the hand that had moved to his cheek, causing the tall German's heart to constrict. "Si, and I'll call our mole at the B.O.I."

The capo lifted the mafioso in a deep kiss impassioned by desperation. The blonde's heart quickened furiously at the feel of his lover's lips, the warmth and taste as they parted granting him access.

Feliciano sighed into the kiss as his beloved man ran a hand through his hair, instinctively brushing the curl while keeping the other arm wrapped securely around the slender waist.

Feeling his slight Italian's sigh, the broad German was overcome with a certain sense of fatalism.

There was no denying they would face constant danger. Ludwig gripped his love tighter as one thought clarified and pushed all his worries to the side. _Regardless of how bleak their future seemed fated, it was all worth it._

…_..._

As the sun moved across the sky, and the bright Christmas morning turned to a dark and quiet Christmas night, the snow began to fall again lazily from the sky. Soft tiny flecks of white landed across the city.

In the Ukrainian district, the capo was rolling down the window of his audi, parked across the street from the hotel-brothel. He brushed the snow away from where it had accumulated with one gloved hand. Ludwig had been there all day with no sign of the Belarussian. He had moved in the shadows around the back, had looked in the windows and listened at the cracks of doors as Madame Braginskaya's business went on through the holiday. The only movement had been the men coming and going from the building all day.

If Natalya Arlovskaya was inside she was laying low.

Just as he was looking to his watch and thinking he would have to return to his love empty handed, a sudden light spilled across the front steps of the Gold Star.

The silhouette of a man and a tall woman cast long shadows across the snow.

Ludwig watched as the woman bent to kiss the shorter man. For only a moment, he thought it odd for a working girl to see her john out the door; but that was before a snippet of conversation was caught on the wind and blown past his open window.

…."Your bloody sister..."

It was the British dealer, Kirkland. Ludwig strained to hear more, it had been sometime since 'dr' Kirkland had given them any information.

The woman's response was lost on the wind as the couple said goodbye, but now that Ludwig knew the man was the British opium peddler, her knew the tall woman to be none other than the proprietor of the hotel, the sister of the Belarussian.

As the Brit's next words drifted along with the snow, "...'s not your fault lovey... " Ludwig surmised Arlovskaya must have done something to the dealer, and it must have been recent.

Finally, something he could take back to Feliciano. Arlovskaya was here, keeping out of sight, and maybe it was time they paid the doctor a call.

Ludwig started his car, and turned, driving back through the falling snow. His heart at once light to be seeing the man he'd intended to spend the day with, and heavy with anxiety knowing each time he acquiesced to stay at Feliciano's increased the likelihood of being found out.

His knuckles were white beneath his gloves on the wheel. Blonde brows furrowed in concentration. There was still the question of _how _the Belarussian had found out. That was a question the capo did not intend to leave unanswered.

…..

As Ludwig drove, his mind and heart in turmoil, His brother was enjoying a lazy holiday with the man he loved and the other two men who were fast becoming his friends.

Alfred Jones' apartment had been drastically changed from the simple bachelor pad for a man who spent most of his time at the office to a home filled with the sounds, scents, and constant happenings of two couples sharing so small a space.

Always there were the scents of delicious meals wafting from the kitchen, the radio played almost constantly, and chatter filled the apartment in four languages. Whether it the usual communication in English, as this was the language shared by all, or the whispered sweet nothings in Russian from the bolshevik to his capitalist lover, or the full conversations in German that infuriated the agent, particularly when his brother and his crimson eyed beau would laugh together and look in his direction, or the occasional French exclamations when Mathew was exasperated with his brother or something had gone wrong in the kitchen. Frequently the two overlapped.

This night, as the capo returned to his boss and love to plan for what could be done to stop the dangerous Belarussian, his older brother was in the kitchen with his Canadian love.

The young professor was reheating leftovers from the Christmas Eve meal the night before as the bartender ladled wassail into four mugs.

The apartment was filled with the sound of carols over the radio, and as 'O Tannenbaum' played after 'Silent Night', Mathew turned from the counter where he was readying plates for each of them, catching his German love's eye as Gilbert set the mugs on a tray.

"Were you, urm..able to get ahold of your brother?" The Canadian asked, leaning against the counter behind him. He still felt conflicted over Gilbert's brother's occupation and his stance opposite his twin. While he would feel much safer were his sweetheart's brother and the rest of the mafia of which he was a part, behind bars, he knew the link shared between brothers, and that Gilbert and his younger brother had been very close.

"Nein." The pale haired man took a long sip of cider from his mug and sighed. "No, I have not. I tried our place first...twice, but of course he's not there." Dark red eyes looked his love up and down, satisfied that the bruises and cuts were fading fast. "I know he is at Feliciano's...und I can not call there...not now."

Gilbert grinned widely as he stopped his scholarly man from worrying more over him. Lifting the tray of mugs overhead with the skill of an experienced bartender, he snaked his other arm around the Canadian's waist. "But don't vorry about me, Liebe!" His grin only grew as he pulled the other man in close. "Your awesome food will make everything better!"

Happy to see he'd successfully changed the subject and made his empathic lover smile, Gilbert slid his arm down low on Matt's waist, letting his hand find a home in the blonde's back pocket as they brought the expertly reheated meal and steamig mugs of wassail into the livingroom.

…...

While Gilbert ate, drank, and passed his time in ease, the tempestuous man who was trying to forget the pale, crimson eyed German, paced his office.

Romano passed his Japanese friend twice as he paced; Kiku stood still as a statue beside the fireplace that bathed the room in warmth and light. So far neither had been able to come up with a fool proof plan for getting Ludwig's brother out of the way before they moved against the agent.

Romano turned again at the fireplace before suggesting yet another idea. The Italian looked to his watch. it was eight o' clock in the evening. They had four hours to sort it out.

…...

The snow came off in clumps from his boots as Ludwig took the stairs up to Feliciano. He stepped quickly, anxious to pass on the little information he had gleaned, and to see his petite Italian again after the long day spent apart, waiting in the snow for signs of their enemy.

The capo's footsteps were swift as he left the stairwell and arrived at the mafioso's door.

Knocking in the way Feliciano would recognize that it was him, Ludwig turned the knob without waiting.

Instantly the slender mob boss was in his capo's strong arms. Feliciano wrapped his arms around the taller man's neck and pressed himself close against the snow speckled coat.

"I have news from the bureau." the petite mafioso whispered as he lay soft kisses to his lover's neck and toyed with the tricolor scarf, unwrapping it to press his lips against lower flesh along the collar of the German's coat.

"Ah, ja.." Ludwig started, caught off guard, but not unpleasantly, by the welcome he was receiving. "...I have news as vell."

The broad shouldered capo reluctantly pushed his petite love out to arms length as he shrugged out of his long black wool coat. Ludwig kept one hand on Feliciano's shoulder, and after tossing the coat across to the sofa, blue eyes returned to caramel and the German's hand moved intuitively into mahogany locks as he drew his man closer again.

"Tell me your news first, Feli." Ludwig spoke into his sweetheart's hair before resting his chin atop the smaller man's head.

The mafioso reached around his capo's waist to snake his hands beneath suspenders as they criss-crossed the tall blonde's muscular back. Feliciano sighed against his lover's chest, happy to see him after the entire day spent apart. He knew he was getting spoiled, and had been used to days apart at a time before...but that was before they had confessed their love; since then, the mafioso had rarely been separated from his diligent capo.

"Feliciano?" Ludwig prompted him from above, the hand that had been in the Italian's hair now, running down to rest at the small of his back.

"Veh~, si.." the boss brought his concentration back from listening to his soldier's heartbeat. "Our man in the bureau says Arlovskaya is out of the country. Do you think she paid the P.I before leaving? Or Veh~, that she has not given up, even from Belarus?"

The taller man lifted his boss up into his arms and as Feliciano wrapped his legs around Ludwig's waist, the strong capo walked across the room to the sofa.

His brows furrowed, the German spoke as he sat down with his petite Italian. "None of that is true...but we can let the bureau think it is, hm?"

At his love's questioning look, Ludwig went on, resting his hands on either side of Feliciano's hips. "I saw that British arschloch, Kirkland leaving the Gold Star. He vas talking to the madame, and complained about her sister." The blonde went on, moving his hands up the back of the brunette's shirt. "It seemed she had done something to him recently. Braginskaya touched his head as it looked like she apologized for vhatever her sister had done to him."

Feliciano moved against his capo's hips and kissed along his jaw. "So, she is laying low? Veh..." The boss sighed as his love began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, large hands roving over the petite chest as Ludwig nodded in agreement.

"And we don't..." the Italian lost his sentence as his German love moved a hand up into his hair again, his fingers instantly finding the curl.

"Und ve do not vant the feds to know Arlovskaya is here, so vhen she disappears she vill not be missed, ja?" Ludwig guessed at Feliciano's thought.

the boss's face flushed as brightly as his capo's with the heat spreading all over his body. the Italian nodded and went on, "I'll have Elizaveta do it, she'll want revenge for what happened with...mmmm." Feliciano's train of thought derailed a second time as he was lifted to his knees on the sofa, his capo's fingers quickly unfastening the buttons on his boss's slacks.

"Veh~ with...Jones'... fratello"

"Mmhm." Ludwig nodded, as his heart raced in his chest. He lifted Feliciano up more as he pulled dark grey pinstriped slacks, along with smooth silk boxers, down to the slender Italian's ankles.

"Und do you think Kirkland has forgotten our deal, mein Liebe?" The blonde continued, still blushing as he had their first time; he watched as his mahogany haired man kicked off his shoes, his slacks falling with them, and settled again onto the German's lap.

"Veh~" Feliciano worked the larger man's buttoned fly open with nimble fingers. He thought as he unsnapped the suspenders, and loosened his strong man's pants. "Well, we know his weakness now, don't we Amore?"

The slender Italian showed the fruits of his Grandfather's laborious tutelage as he fit the role he'd been groomed for his entire life. Easily separating work from his heart, Feliciano felt no guilt as he went on. "We can use the Belarussian's sister to remind him who he works for."

"Veh~" The petite mafioso sighed as he freed his man's erection, and moved in against Ludwig's hips grinding his own hard cock against his love's. "Let's finish what we started this morning?"

The capo could only sound his agreement as the his lithe Italian moved, sending waves of pleasure coursing throughout his body.

The slight brunette sighed as his blonde lover moaned; Ludwig's mouth against Feliciano's shoulder.

Each of the Italian's movements and sighs were heaven to the German's ears. Feliciano used the leverage from his love's broad shoulders to pull himself up and then down against the other man. Caramel eyes were locked unwavering onto those of sky blue, each man fighting to keep his lids from closing under the pleasurable sensations. loving lips found eachother and kissed deeply, penetratingly, as hearts beat together in a furious rhythm.

The slender boss was quickly undoing his capo's shirt, pushing the unclasped suspenders away as he slid his lover's shirt from strong, muscular shoulders.

As Feliciano broke pink swollen lips away from Ludwig's to move his kisses down over his German's hard chest, Ludwig found he could take no more.

Large hands moved down the slender back to stop the petite mobster's hips in place. Positioning himself at his sweetheart's entrance, the blonde man blushed deeply, his azure eyes half closed and breath heavy. "Bitte, mein Liebe?"

"J-ja." Feliciano whispered against his lover's chest as he drew himself in closer to Ludwig, wrapping his arms tightly around the larger man's neck.

The German reached for the lubrication inside a hidden drawer of the side table.

Wasting no time, Ludwig nipped at his Italian's shoulder as he coated his intensely stiffened erection.

Ever careful of his smaller lover's sensitivity, the blonde took one lubricated finger and made sure his man was prepared.

Over the near month that the two had been intimate, their bodies had grown more accustomed to eachother; It took less time than ever before for Feliciano's tight ring of muscle to relax and warm to Ludwig's touch.

Knowing that when he spoke in his lover's native tongue he was sure to set the composed blonde off, the brunette sighed, leaning onto the fingers being pushed inside him. "Bitte,..." Feliciano's light voice caught in his throat as Ludwig reached that spot that made him shiver, "... gib...m-mir mehr."

"Ja, Feli..." Happily dutiful to his boss's wish, the German removed his fingers and gripping his slender Italian love by the hips, he lowered Feliciano onto his cock, straining with need.

Eyes closed tight as Ludwig pressed inside; with both men's breaths coming short and fast, the mafioso and his capo began to move together.

Words were whispered and cried out in each language the lovers knew. Both men sighed and moaned the other's name as Ludwig guided his slender love up and down in his lap. In this position, one they had not yet tried before, the German was able to see so much more of his lover's body.

Ludwig thrilled at each stroke Feliciano gave himself as the petite brunette held onto his strong man's shoulder with one hand.

The rhythm set was slow, meant to savor each movement, each sigh. Blue eyes held caramel brown with a possessive, protective gleam; the mafioso was only too glad to give himself over to those eyes, to his lover's fiercely devoted gaze.

The lovers lost track of time in eachother's touch and taste, hearts aching with the very threat that what they had together could be lost.

Each ripple of muscle, each bead of sweat, each breathe and fevered, stolen kiss was heightened, made all the more desperate and sensitive. Both men shared the same thought, they had come so close to ruin that morning. An enemy had their secret, and it had never seemed so fragile a secret as it did now.

_So far_, Ludwig thought as he bit down lightly on the soft skin at his love's collar bone, thrilling at the gasp and sigh as Feliciano shivered and tightened around him. _So far, we have kept proof from her hands...I will simply have to double my vigilance. _The blonde pushed sweat drenched locks from his eyes and held his man closer against his chest. As his breathe sped with the thrusts of his hips, the German whispered a vow into his Italian's ear as Feliciano cried out, coming between them.

"I svear to you, Feli..." But what he swore was lost in a low moan as the capo's fingers dug into the boss's hips, and with a final push up into his lover's warm welcome body, Ludwig came hot and fast, the vow unsaid but no less understood.

…...

_Bitte...Gib mir mehr: Please...Give me more_

_..._

As the couple held eachother, their hearts slowly returning to a normal pace, breathe returning to lungs, the family's business went on. Far from where the boss laid his head against his capo's shoulder, the machinations of the don's organization continued as planned. There was never a true day off for Feliciano's famiglia.

The older Vargas brother sat in the shadows where he was parked in the back of the agent's apartment building. Romano looked to his watch as the time ticked by.

11:30pm.

There was still time he would have to wait, and then of course was the trick of getting the pale German bartender out of the way. He couldn't have Gilbert as a witness, both personally and for just how much that would complicate things if Ludwig's brother came out as a witness to testify against the family.

And judging by the way the pale man's crimson eyes had looked down at the unconscious Canadian as Romano had watched them leave the Gold Star, the Italian had no illusions of where Gilbert Beilschmidt's loyalty now lay. The thought made his heart race and his stomach squirm as though filled with angry serpents.

The older Italian had written and sent the letter to his ex in Madrid earlier that day. The mobster had left details of his career and their current crisis' out of his words, choosing instead to keep things light and conversational. Antonio and Gilbert had hit it off as friends right away as soon as the German had joined his brother in Spain immediately after the war. Regardless of what happened, Romano felt it was best to keep his Spanish ex in the dark as to the conflict between he and Gilbert. The tempestuous brunette wasn't entirely sure what he wanted; wasn't sure if using Antonio as a distraction was right or would even work...

But the Spaniard had always been affectionate, and there was something to be said for that.

particularly, if, as his mind told his heart, fate was set on conspiring against the possibility that he could have had a shot with the wild crimson eyed bartender.

Romano ground his teeth as his Japanese friend sat patiently in the passenger seat.

Kiku worried for his friend, but said nothing, respecting the impulsive man's right to the privacy of his thoughts.

At last, with another glance to his watch by the light of his friend's offered match, Romano watched as the minute hand ticked to 11:45. It was time to move into position.

He started the car, his beloved apple red lancia theta torpedo, and moved quickly, like the shadows that covered him. Without aid of his headlights which could have given them away to watchful eyes, the mobsters turned around the corner, into the parking lot and then, stopping without shutting off the engine, Romano Vargas hopped over the driver's side door and out of his convertible.

Kiku slid into the driver's side as they had planned, and placing the engine in neutral. The stealthy yakuza let his friend's car slide backward beneath the fire escape on the edge of the building where he would wait in the dark, ready to make the getaway.

Romano stepped up the stairs to the agent's second story apartment. Carefully, the mafia's second in command loaded his gun and put an ear to the door.

…...

On the other side of that door, Romano's target was just flopping onto the sofa beside his Russian beau. Ivan had had his face buried in both the Daily News and the Tribune.

"Hey Vanya~" Alfred drawled with a grin, "Whatcha readin' cutie?"

"Your news lyoubov." Ivan's violet eyes looked up over the page he was just turning down. The bolshevik turned toward his American sweetheart. "Alfred, did you know that in Russia women were given the right to vote three years ago?"

The Russian shook his head and turned the article toward the American. "Finally, your government decided to let them vote in August, and now it is December. Still they have troubles."

The bespectacled blonde shrugged his shoulders. "Well I think its cool that they can vote now and all that, you know...I wore a yellow rose that day, alright?"

Ivan wrapped an arm around his love, ruffling golden hair as he returned to the newspaper. "And the world thinks my country is backward." He chuckled lightly, feeling the other man bristle beside him.

Alfred leaned in and sighed dramatically. Why are you reading that anyway? The radio's on, we could just stare at the lights on the tree and listen." the blonde went on, "I'm full and happy and I just intend to relax the rest of the night."

"But Alfred, it is important to know what is going on in the world." Violet eyes twinkled as the bolshevik leaned in toward his American man. "Besides, it is practice for reading your language."

Ivan smiled as he returned to the paper. " And it is humorous to read the headlines that involve my homeland, even when they are so very biased."

Alfred spluttered though he kicked his feet up onto the sofa and lay down beneath the folded end of the Tribune in Ivan's hands. "Ha, says you. What has Russia got, _one_ newspaper?"

Infuriatingly, his Russian love simply rolled his eyes and still running a hand through Alfred's hair, pulled on the cowlick slightly. "Capitalists; You are obsessed with numbers."

"Wha- uh,-!" The agent poked his socialist man in the side.

While Alfred and Ivan began to debate, the Russian never taking his eyes from the article he was reading, which only irritated his American sweetheart further, the agent's brother and his German love were in the kitchen.

"Danke Gilbert." Mathew handed the pale man a plate as he finished rinsing it in the sink. "You know, Alfred almost never helps with the dishes." The Canadian brother leaned back to look into the livingroom at his brother who was currently extolling the virtues of the free market.

The crimson eyed German grinned as he dried and put away the plate. "Its nothing, mein Liebling; I wash dishes all the time at the Roost."

Mathew returned his love's smile. "You know I really liked your club Gil," The young professor's expression dropped slightly "Aside from...well you know, the mob." Shaking the memories from his mind, Matt continued, his smile returning, "Hopefully things will settle down and I can go back one day..."

Red eyes gleamed as Gilbert dried the glass Mathew handed him. "Oh, ja, you should see it on Christm-" The German bartender stopped mid word, before going on, "Christmas. We're really busy on Christmas."

The pale man put away the glass, the last dish they had to do. He leaned on the counter and regarded the blonde guiltily. "Um, Matt, Kuschelbär..." Gil began before rushing on under the look of concerned skepticsm his scholarly love was giving him.

"I haven't been to vork in days, und, you know I am the owner...the Roost is really busy on Christmas..." Gilbert reached around to put his hands in his lover's back pockets, pulling the Canadian close. "I'll only be gone a few hours. 'Just for the rush between midnight and four o'clock in the morning."

Mathew didn't like the idea at all, and didn't hesitate to let his German man know this.

"But Gil, isn't the place crawling in mobsters? Aren't you...on the outs with the mafia right now?"

"Vell, ja..." The pale man began, "and I am sure Feliciano and my bruder vould like to talk to me," His crimson eyes flashed angrily before returning to their normal hue. "But my place isn't just a safe hangout for the Italians, but also the Irish, and vhen they come up here, the cubans. Everyone knows if they fire a shot in my place, it vill have company."

The Canadian raised one eyebrow, his voice dripping with perfected sarcasm, "Yes, that makes me feel so much better."

The pale man was already moving his love through the apartment, picking up his jacket with one hand, as they made their way to the door. Gilbert's tiny yellow companion fluttered down from the glittering nest he'd made in the christmas tree.

Instead of the German's outstretched hand, Gilbird chose to land on the Canadian's shoulder, ruffling soft yellow feathers, the tiny bird settled in against Matt's collar.

"Oh ja, I see how it is." Gilbert squinted his eyes at the miniature traitor, but unable to hold his mock anger long, the bartender laughed. Slipping his arms into his jacket, he spoke to both his Canadian man and beloved little pet, "I vill only be gone a few hours, und be back before you are avake."

One hand on the door, the red eyed man took his love's chin in hand and brought their lips together. Gilbert tried to erase his love's worries with his kiss, and when they broke, he grinned, the picture of confidence. "Don't vorry about me, ja?"

Mathew hesitated, blue violet eyes glancing away toward the sparkling lights of the tree. "I'll try not too."

Still holding his confident grin in place, the pale man waved toward the Russian and American on the sofa.

….

Outside the door, Romano's eyes were wide. Could he be this lucky that Gilbert was leaving just before midnight? He glanced to his watch. 11:55pm. Quickly, the mobster moved to the side of the door, into the shadows. He knelt in a flash and dusted away evidence of where he'd been standing. Fortunately, his footsteps on the main stair were not alone, as residents of the apartments had been up and down them all day.

His back against the wall, the hot tempered man held his breathe as the door opened spilling light down the stairs to the snow covered parking lot below. Warm yellow light that didn't touch his hideaway nor Kiku's below. Romano congratulated himself; so far so good.

Gilbert stood in the doorway, pulling the Canadian in close again, the pale German kissed his love a second time. "Ich liebe dich Matt."

Romano's heart raced; his stomach churned with anger as the blood boiled feverishly beneath his skin. The enraged mobster thought he'd gotten the pale haired man out of his mind. It seemed it had only been the German's absence that had given the Italian now standing wrathfully against the wall a false sense of freedom from his emotions.

Then why was his heart beating so eratically? His face hot enough to melt the snow?

The pale German raced down the steps and hopped onto his bike unaware of the man in the shadows. Gilbert's only thoughts were of his bar, the employees he'd left alone so long, and the promise made to hurry back.

_Dio lo Dannazione! _Romano cursed the object of his unrequited affection silently.

The mafioso's brother watched the taillight of the bike as the bartender turned the corner and disappeared in the direction of his club. The hot tempered Italian kept a check on his emotions just barely; soon, Romano told himself, he'd be done with all of this. The agent would be gone and as a bonus, his bother with him. The Russian was an enigma, and from what the mobster knew, Ivan was a soldier, but even soldiers can be caught off guard.

The fiery brunette stood in the falling snow; he looked to his watch and counted down the minutes in his mind as he waited for the holy day to pass.

Mathew stood for a moment at the door, listening to the sounds of Gil's bike fade as he drove away. When at last the only sound was that of the snow falling onto the pavement, he made his way back to the kitchen, striding past his brother lounging on the sofa with Ivan.

The agent's brother was intent on wiping down the counters before curling up with the gift his German love had given. The young history professor couldn't wait to start dreaming up ways to incorporate the first hand accounts of the sixteenth century journaler into his class in the spring.

Ivan was still looking through the Chicago tribune and occasionally tsking as he ran across something he didn't agree with.

Mathew grinned as he wiped a cloth across the counter and shook his head.

Each time Ivan found some bit of news unsatisfactory, Alfred lept to his city's defense.

"You two are going to have to come to some kind of compromise you know." The Canadian brother called across the apartment.

"Da," The Russian agreed, "He will compromise, and agree with me."

Before Mathew could even reply, or wonder what exactly the topic was this time, his brother exclaimed in indignation. "Ha! Not likely; and that's not what 'compromise' means Vanya!"

Humor was evident in the Russian's response, though his American lover missed it entirely. "but Alfred, I can be very persuasive."

"Oh yeah, well so can I!" Blue eyes flashed behind his glasses as agent Jones sat up on the sofa.

His Russian beau chuckled, inwardly Ivan knew were he to try to convince Alfred that the decadent way his nation was going could not last, the stubborn American would never believe him. So instead the violet eyed man decided to be playful.

Putting down the paper on the coffee table beside his love's government issue sidearm, Ivan turned back to Alfred, and wrapping strong arms around his capitalist love, the Bolshevik whispered against the American's lips, "Da, Da, I know you can be, moi Americanski."

All the agent could do was stammer a fragmented "O-oh" before their lips were locked, the Russian pressing his American love against the sofa.

Mathew groaned as he knelt below the sink to put away the rags and cleaning supplies. "Come on…."

It was as Jones and his Bolshevik captain kissed on the sofa, and the agent's brother knelt in the kitchen, that the clock struck midnight. As the chime echoed through the house, the lock was shot from the door.

Several things happened in an instant as Mathew was frozen in place in the kitchen; the events around him unfolding too fast for action or comprehension.

The mobster entered through the splintered and weakened wooden frame of the door. Gun at the ready, he took aim immediately.

Instead of the agent, Romano aimed his weapon on the Russian as Ivan swore and rushed to take hold of the pipe he'd brought back from the basement of the Gold Star.

However, no matter how fast Ivan moved, Romano was prepared and acted faster. With one eye to the blonde edging closer toward his pistol on the table, the Italian fired a second before the metal implement was in the Russian's hands.

The bullet sliced through the bolshevik's sleeve into his upper arm, exiting out the back to lodge into the wall behind him. The pipe rolled away to settle across the floor near the still glittering tree.

"Ivan!" Alfred turned involuntarily; for just a fraction of a moment, his heart loud in his ears, fingers close to the butt of his weapon.

The broad Russian ignored the pain in his arm, continuing to come at the Italian, ducking the subsequent shots fired from the mobster's pistol. Ivan's eyes were slits of violet malice; he slid on the floor, and with his good arm reached for the pipe.

Fingers closed around cold lead as the bolshevik soldier clasped his weapon.

Ivan straightened just as Alfred took hold of his firearm. The agent and the mafioso's brother ducked and weaved around eachother and the room, each aiming to kill and missing just by a hair.

Bullets shot through the air, breaking the lamps beside the sofa, spilling the fill from cushions, embedding themselves in walls.

His pipe swung high as Ivan came up behind Romano, distracting the Italian from his target.

The tempestuous man turned just before the lead pipe could make contact with the back of his skull.

With a wicked grin at having moved faster than the larger man, Romano swerved and took the Russian's blow to the side as he grabbed hold of the taller man's scarf, and in a heartbeart, a fraction of a heartbeat, the fiery Italian had put the business end of his revolver to Ivan's shoulder.

Pulling the trigger, the mob boss's brother looked back to the marked federal agent. The metal plumbing instrument fell the ground at the violet eyed man's feet as fingers loosened, nerves sending pain shooting from both bullet wounds.

Wounded though he was, Ivan had been injured far worse before, and only one thing kept him from attacking the Italian now.

Distracted, the American agent had paused in reloading his weapon as his love was shot for the second time. Dark red blood ran down the Russian's right arm to drip onto the floor. Romano had moved instantly across the small apartment's living space. He'd acted in the second that his shot had diverted agent Jones' attention.

The impulsive mobster had gotten the jump on the government man.

Alfred had frozen, his ammunition in the coffee table's drawer open before him. fingers outstretched, reaching for his bullets. The barrel of the brunette's pistol now rested squarely against his forehead.

Romano chuckled, smirking at the two other men. A better deterrent for the perserverant Russian could not have fallen into his lap.

"Stay right-a where you are, you fucking Ruski."

Blue eyes glared up from where Alfred was bent at the waist to retrieve his ammo, clear, hot hate evident in the agent's gaze.

In the kitchen, Mathew's heart was pounding. Again, he was seeing his brother with a gun to his head. Violent visions of their time in the Belarussian's captivity flashed before his mind.

Ivan stood, clutching his arm, in front of the kitchen doorway, the pipe, just out of his reach. Thinking fast, Mathew scooted along the floor, edging out the entryway. the professor looked up to meet the bolshevik's eyes and both knew the other's plan. _Romano would kill them all, so why be good and do what he says?_ Instead, Ivan's eyes told him, if only the Russian had the pipe, he could get them out of this.

Gilbird had long since flown from his shoulder, and Matt hoped the little bird would stay out of the way as he knelt and leaned, silently reaching for the pipe. While the young professor was attempting to pull the weapon silently toward his Russian friend, Romano was telling Alfred to stand, and move against the wall.

Mathew's fingers closed around the pipe as he pulled it toward Ivan across the rug.

the lead made a slight 'ssht' noise as it moved on the fibers; this did not go unnoticed.

"You!" Romano spun on his heels toward the kitchen. "So there-a you are, you fucking puttana!"

The Italian was not the only one who could take advantage of distraction.

Alfred ducked out from under Romano's aim. He made a move toward his gun again as Matt stood.

But the mobster would not be outmaneuvered this time. "No, you don't-a Agent Jones!" The brunette acted fast, ready to put the entire ordeal behind him. The chamber whirled in the gun, as Romano once again set Alfred in his sights.

The angry brunette looked toward the taller Russian as Ivan went for the pipe. "Don't-a make a move-a fattie. You want-a I kill him slowly?"

Alfred stood, unarmed as he had not been able to reach his weapon. The American agent opened his mouth to talk, maybe they could make a deal...

"Arrivederci agent Jones." Romano squeezed the trigger and the bullet left the chamber with a blast.

"Al!" Matthew acted fast without thought; he ran toward his twin in a flash, pushing Alfred down and out of the way.

_Crack. _The bullet broke through bone as it entered the skull above one bespectacled eye sending glasses falling to the ground to be followed closely by knees, as one twin fell and his brother gasped in shock.

With a soft, disbelieving groan of pain, he felt the carpet below him, but didn't remember falling.

_Sticky. Coppery taste in his mouth. Sticky substance spreading out around him._

_Was that his blood? _

The young professor could almost hear his brother's keening wail, but it was as though it were far away.

Everything was going dark, and fast.

…...

The words weren't coming out of his mouth in any kind of a coherent order. Alfred knelt beside his brother and leaning over his twin, he cried fully, feeling suddenly incomplete.

Romano recocked his weapon and aimed again, his quarry was so perfectly sitting still for him.

"Listen, Jones, you know-a this is not-a personal, si? Its-a just business." The fiery Italian shrugged, he'd have to take care of all the witnesses anyway, that the Canadian that had given him such trouble had been the first was simply an added bonus.

But as he once again took aim at the federal agent, still sobbing over his brother and caring less and less if he lived, the quick tempered Italian had forgotten about the Russian.

"Don't-a worry Jones. You'll be with your brother again soon." he smirked as he prepared to squeeze the trigger.

As Romano's attentions left him, Ivan wasted no time. His pipe in hand again, he swung hard and with a heavy metallic ringing, he hit the Italian in the back. Romano doubled, losing his aim on the agent. He turned toward his opponent and fired but missed.

_Click. Click._ the mobster tried to shoot again, only to find he'd run out of bullets.

"Figlio di puttana!" Romano took a look to the larger Russian coming at him again.

An eerie chanting sound fell from the bolshevik's tongue as he swung again. "kolkolkolkolkolkol..."

Knowing without any bullets he was at a loss and deciding he didn't want to die today, Romano Vargas grabbed the teary agent by the collar as he ducked the pipe, "Remember this, Jones. Chicago is our city." The Italian ducked another blow from the Russian "I'll-a let you off witha warning this-a time!" Romano slipped in his last threat as though nothing had gone wrong with his plan as he ran from the apartment, taking the steps three at a time as he called for his getaway.

….

_Dio lo Dannazione! :Damn him!_

_Figlio di puttana: Son of a whore!_

_Yellow rose: the color of rose worn by those who supported women's right to vote in 1920, the year we got it._

...

While the sound of the engine roared off into the night, Agent Jones had barely registered the Italian's words. He'd dropped to his knees in the rug soaked with his brother's blood and held onto his twin while crying hot heavy tears and mumbling denial.

Watery blue eyes stared, unable to accept what they saw. Alfred tried to gulp back the sobs coming up from his throat, only succeeding in choking on his cries as he shook his head back and forth.

Ivan knelt beside his love, putting one arm around the American. The Russian had seen so much death. The deaths of soldiers, clearly, but also the deaths of the revolution. He'd seen the deaths of starving families and the executions of aristocrats...and their families. Looking now upon his Alfred's brother, the man he'd lately considered a brother himself, Ivan felt the salty pain of loss radiate from his American man and raise up in his throat.

Violet eyes looked down to the body now in Alfred's arms. He looked twice, closer, at the exposed neck of the professor. Ivan could have sworn he'd seen the vein in the man's throat move, pulsing with life.

Reaching out a finger, Ivan held it to the soft fleshy hollow of Mathew's neck. A pulse beat weakly against his fingerprint. the rhythm was light and erratic, but it was a pulse.

"Alfred! He is alive! We must go to the hospital!"

The American simply continued to cry over his unconscious brother, seemingly lost to the outside world. Ivan took his love by the shoulder with his uninjured arm. "Alfred! He is ALIVE!"

The Russian shook the hysterical American; "He is alive, but only barely! Alfred, where is the hospital?"

"Huh?" the blonde shook out of the trance i which he'd been since seeing his twin go down.

"Wha-?" Alfred looked to his brother in his arms; looked to the blood surrounding them, the readily bruising and bloody entry wound on Mathew's forehead. "Ma-Mattie?" The agent looked to his brother hopefully, his tears continuing to track down his face.

Ivan took Alfred's free hand, and putting his love's index finger to his brother's neck, the bolshevik soldier saw that his American love felt the pulse as he had.

"Da It is weak, Alfred, but it is there!" We must get to the hospital!"

Bright blue eyes blinked the tears back as the feel of his brother's faint pulse spurred Alfred into action.

…...

As the ambulance raced through the snow toward the agent's apartment, Romano had only just arrived at his brother's penthouse. The German capo stood with his Japanese friend as the two Italians argued, the older brother defensive, the younger shocked that two witnesses had been left, one of them, the agent his brother had been supposed to kill.

Feliciano stood as Romano flopped into a chair. "Fratello, you killed his brother and you left Jones alive?" The mafioso shook his head and looked at his brother imploringly. "I thought you could do this without making it personal, veh~"

As his younger brother sighed, Romano sat straighter in the chair. "It wasn't-a fucking personal! I ran out of-a fucking bullets!"

"Veh~ Romano!" The young mafioso sat on his coffee table across from his brother. Feliciano dropped his head into his hands, resting elbows on his knees. Ludwig now strode across the room to his love, seated on the coffee table, and placed a hand to Feliciano's back.

The don relaxed into his love's touch, and seeming to come to a decision, he looked back up to the angry brother seated across from him.

"Fratello...you will have to lay low, for a while." Caramel eyes looked over his shoulder and up into blue before Feliciano continued, the irony of what he had to say not lost on the young don. "We can spread the rumour that you've gone back home to Italy."

When Romano did nothing but cross his arms and pout, his younger brother sighed again "Veh~ Romano, you killed the brother of a government agent. You killed his brother in front of him. You left two witnesses, one of them, the agent." Feliciano sighed again, "Veh~ this is why Grandpa says you are too hot-tempered Romano!"

The older brother shot up like a bolt from the chair. "Fine, si, fine, I'll go into hiding for a while! I got it, I got it!" The darker haired brother clenched his fists, a shadow crossing his face as old wounds of favoritism reopened. "I wouldn't want-a to disappoint Grandpa anymore-a, huh?"

Romano turned toward the door, "I'm-a going out on-a the town then for my last-a night of freedom!" He walked purposefully toward the door. "C'mon Kiku, I'll show you every club in the city!" The japanese mobster was torn as he looked to his other friends.

Feliciano nodded, hopeful that the much calmer Kiku would temper his brother's mood.

Romano turned back, his hand on the knob. "So, tell me, Favorite, have-a you told Grandpa you've had-a this-a damn potato eater over every night?"

Before the mafioso could respond, his brother was out the door dragging his friend along with him.

"Veh~" Feliciano turned toward Ludwig; the smaller man stood and wrapping his arms around his strong capo, Don Vargas sighed again. "Veh, Ludwig. The Belarussian and now this..."

The blonde held his brunette close. "Feli.." Ludwig started, his stomach in knots over what his brother's response was going to be to the news that the Canadian had been killed. "mein Liebe, I have to go speak to Gilbert before he finds out vhat happened from someone else."

The slight Italian nodded against his German lover's broad chest. "Si, you're right Ludwig. Veh~ what will he do?"

The blue eyed man looked deep into his love's warm caramel eyes. Running a hand through mahogany hair, tilting his Italian's face toward his, the capo's brows knit in concern. "I do not know, Feli."

It was a half truth, Ludwig worried that he knew all too well how his brother would react.

"I do not know," The blonde reiterated, "but today ve vill handle this; tomorrow ve vill see about our Belarussian problem."

Feliciano nodded. "You do so much for me." he whispered, moving his arms up from around his capo's back to wrap around Ludwigs neck, as the mafioso stepped up on his toes to embrace his devoted man closely.

….

Across town, Gilbert worked, casting a look to the clock behind the bar. 1:00am, it seemed like it should be later, the bartender mused while pouring his customer's drinks. The pale man slid a martini across the bar to an obvious made man,someone clearly on a middle rung of Feliciano's organization. As he was turning back to his other customers, the man spoke up.

"I hear Romano Vargas is no longer allowed in here." The man chuckled, his friends around him doing the same.

"Ja, thats right." Gilbert responded simply, wondering how much the men knew.

The man with the martini took a sip and laughed again, his two buddies joining him. "Thats ballsy bartender!" The man leaned in, "What'd he do? Steal your best girl?"

Gil answered half amused. "Something like that." Clearly Feliciano and Ludwig had kept a tight lid on exactly how the agent and his brother had escaped the Belarussian.

As the men laughed and Gil turned, flashing his wide grin to the next customers, another man joined the mobsters at the bar.

While the pale man slid a scotch and a dark beer to the visiting Irishmen from Boston at the opposite end of the bar, his ears were tuned to the conversation going on between the Italians as the newest had arrived.

The German continued making drinks as he listened, barely looking to his other customers, he expertly mixed drinks and poured shots with inattention; His mind solely on the words being spoken by the Italians.

"You talking about Romano?"

"Yeah - he stole Gil's squeeze or something like that, this ballsy Albino's banned him from the club!"

"Well I hear he's in hot water with his little brother. 'botched another job cause of his temper."

"Another?" There was a pause in the conversation as the man took a sip of his martini, Gilbert stopped as he began to pour a glass of wine.

"Yep, that guy is one hot headed bastard," The man was quick to add, "and I say that with the respect."

The martini drinker's friend spoke up, "So what'd he do this time? The boss is a pretty patient man, and everyone knows the brothers are close."

"Well you know he's wanting to make up for that fiasco with that agent's brother?"

"Yeah, yeah, the one the loony Belarussian bitch took from our Liz?"

"Right, well you know, I hear the Don gave him the job to bump off Jones, since he can't be persuaded or bought."

"Everybody's got a price." The man with the martini added sagely.

"Well nobody's found Jones' yet." The newcomer continued. "Anyway, yous guys want me to tell you what went down or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. So he botched the job. What, he get so mad he couldn't aim or something?"

"Worse."

"Well go on man, don't leave us high and dry."

"Get this. He goes into the Agent's place, just tonight, not an hour ago, right?"

Crimson eyes stared unseeing at the wine rack. His heart seemed to stop as Gilbert stood, an empty glass and a bottle opener in one hand. His entire being focused on the words being spoken between the men at the end of the bar.

"He goes in, He's supposed to off Jones and whoever else is there, got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, what happened?"

"Well you know Jones is a twin right? I don't know if it was a mistake or what, but our man Romano gets pissed off, I think he hates that brother of Jones' for making him look bad or something by escaping before. I still don't know how the brothers got away from that Belarussian."

"I heard Jones has a Russian friend from the War who helped 'em out."

"Never mind about that, what happened tonight?"

"Right, tonight Romano gets brassed off about something and shoots _the wrong twin first_." None of the mobsters noticed Gilbert as he stood stock still, their words sinking into his brain.

"I mean it wouldn't have been a problem if he'd kept going, but he wasted all his bullets in a shootout with the agent and his Russian buddy and then didn't kill either of them. So he's killed the brother, but not the agent or the Russian, leaving them as witnesses."

"A federal agent as a witness to the murder of his brother. - Just what the boss needs right now."

The martini drinker shook his head, "Didn't he have backup? What about his japanese friend? Why didn't he just call him up to do some ninja moves on 'em?"

"You know Romano doesn't think before he acts when he gets all mad like that, that hot headed... I don't know how the Don's gonna get him out of the country in time..."

The men went on, not noticing their bartender had disappeared. A broken wine glass lay on the floor beside the bottle opener. Gilbert had left as soon as he'd heard the words, _"..he's killed the brother.." _

These words repeated themselves in the pale German's mind as he moved through his bar as remotely, he moved as if in a dream. Before he was aware of it, he'd walked past customers and employees without a word; down the hall behind the bar, out the backdoor and on his bike.

He started the engine, the words replaying in his head, a lead feeling in his stomach, the pale man had gone paler, his heart had stopped and it seemed fitting. He simply sat there for a moment blankly as his world fell apart around him.

After some time as the snow fell and the engine purred, a new thought interrupted his mind. The new thought came in his own voice, it echoed in his bones, and he spoke it aloud to the empty alley behind his club.

"I'll kill him."

The purpose spurred the pale man into action, and crimson eyes sharp with determined will, Gilbert stepped heavily on the gas and sped through the snow.

…...

Just as he left tracks in the blanket of white behind his club, Gilbert's younger brother was stepping through the front door of the Roost.

It took Ludwig no time to ascertain what had happened as customers at the bar had witnessed the strange shift in mood and sudden disappearance, and employees shook their heads not knowing what had become of their usually energetic and extroverted boss.

.

The blonde capo spared only an icy glare at the underlings who had been blabbing so openly before he strode behind the bar, stepped over the broken glass on his way to the phone in the hall behind the bar.

Ludwig ran a hand through his hair as he held the receiver to his ear. He took a chance. If he were in Gilbert's place, the first thing he would do, would be to go home, and get ammunition."

With a sinking heart, the capo dialed his home number.

…...

The ringing of the phone was an alien sound to the man who moved through the room as if a stranger to the world around him. It rang several times before penetrating Gilbert's mind, the sound finally making sense; a phone, his phone, ringing.

Loading his pistol, the bartender answered, holding the receiver between his ear and shoulder, he spoke in a rush, "Ja? er, hallo?"

"Bruder, thank Gott I -" Ludwig's voice came relieved over the phone. Hearing his brother's voice, Gilbert suddenly knew he had a way to hear the truth, had the men at the bar been in the know? Had they been right?

"Scheiße! Ludwig! Is it true?" His voice broke as he loaded his gun, fingers just beginning to betray his nerves.

Silence answered him, as Ludwig thought over his words, and turning away from the sounds of the club he answered his brother "...Ja, but Gilbert, you -"

The older brother cut off his younger's words again. Somehow hearing Ludwig confirm his fears sent his heart falling to the bottom of his stomach, his blood draining from his face, Gilbert managed a strangled sound from the back of his throat.

"But? there is nothing to say! He vasn't part of this! Romano, that arschloch! I'll kill him!"

The capo hurried to try to both console his brother and warn him against taking such dangerous action. "I'm sorry this happened, Gil! I tried to..."

The blonde turned again in the hall and spoke in a hush, he wanted to say he'd tried to warn him, but knew it would make his brother react, he decided to advise his heartbroken and dangerous older brother, "but you cant do anything, you can't kill Romano! It cant ...I can't ...Gott Verdammt East," Ludwig couldn't hold it in any longer, he had tried to warn him! He'd tried to warn his brother that the agent was a marked man, that Jones' brother was in danger, not to get involved, What did Gilbert expect him to do?

Ludwig leaned further away from the club's main area as he bellowed into the phone, " I TRIED TO VARN YOU! I told you not to get close to him! I varned you!"

"West," Gilbert lowered both his voice and loaded gun dangerously. "There is no vay around you und yours being in the wrong here."

Ludwig sighed and after a moment of silence he spoke again. "You know this business. Feliciano didn't want you to be hurt, wanted to make sure you weren't there - no one knew who would be home," The strong capo sighed, worried for his brother, knowing where he in Gilbert's place, he'd be feeling the same way. Ludwig continued, already fearing his words would make no difference, and concerned for where he now stood between the man he loved and his brother.

"It vas not a hit on him,...its that Jones,...things vent wrong, ja, but I told you not to get too close!" Ludwig sighed again, trying to keep his voice calm, "Vhy do you never listen to me, bruder?"

"Gott Verdammt West!" Gilbert slumped against the wall, staring down at the gun in his hand; the reciever still held between shoulder and ear. "You know not getting close vould have been impossible! Don't talk to me as if that is something I could have done!" The more Gilbert spoke, the more his chest ached; he felt hollow and brittle...he knew only the vengeful purpose he'd found could make him feel close to whole again. Lost in his thoughts that swirled choatically around his mind, Gilbert almost missed his brother's next words.

"Vhat did you think vould happen? You knew Jones vas marked-" His older brother's voice came over the wire low and sounding exhausted.

Gilbert interupted his younger brother again, Ludwig simply didn't seem to understand. The pale older brother stood straighter against the wall, his blood seemed to return, pumping rage through his veins and fueling his need to leave, to bring justice to what was done to his beloved Mathew. "It doesn't fucking matter!" Gilbert yelled into the phone, the anger keeping the tears back as he continued, "Nothing fucking mattered but Matthew! I don't care what happens to me I don't ... I don't..."

Gil began to choke on his words. Damnit, why had he had to fall in love? That had never been in his plans, love em and leave em, that had always been his way, but the scholarly Canadian had been so different, had been like an angel into his life...Gilbert floundered for a moment before taking hold of his new purpose again brought order to his thoughts.

"I'll do vhatever it takes to put that hotheaded bastard in the ground." The older brother spoke clearly and coldly, "I don't care vhat you say or how _you or anyone else _tries to stop me."

So far away from where his brother stood blinking back the tears that continued to threaten, Ludwig's heart stopped cold at his Gilbert's stressed words. _you or anyone else. _If Gil actively went after Romano...There was no way Feliciano would let his brother be killed. What was his brother expecting him to do? To betray his love when he had vowed to be beside his Feli always? Or did Gilbert expect to fight him?

"Do not be stupid Bruder, you can not go against him." The tall man tried to control the panic in his voice as his brother's employees walked past with tray of glasses, each curious as to what was going on.

It was clear his brother was losing it, and as Gilbert laughed wildly, Ludwig found it harder and harder to mask his worry.

"Varum? Vhy?" Gilbert screamed into the phone, "Because he is a made man and I am just a bartender? You think that vill make a damn bit of difference in the end? Vhen it comes to who lives or dies?"

Both brothers had grown up with a religious background and Ludwig heard a crusade in his brother's words now as Gilbert continued, his voice cracking dangerously emotional. "I have righteousness on my side bruder. You may have forgotten vhat that is but I have not!"

Ludwig spoke in a hush, turning from the noise of the bar, and silencing questioning looks with a flash of his gun. "Gilbert - I am not saying I vould be doing anything different vere I in your position..." The younger brother sighed and his panic only rose at the image in his mind of thier roles reversed. He spoke louder, "Rightious or not, you vill not be allowed to shoot him! There vill be dozens in between you!

Ludwig paused to run fingers through his hair in exasperation as he leaned an elbow against the wall, the phones reciever still held close to his ear. The ruthless capo spoke from his heart, "Gil, I do not vant to lose you, you are mein bruder, but I - "

Ludwig stopped as a horrific realization dawned, "You do not expect to live, do you? You know you vill not have a chance against so many!" The tall blonde felt his options draining away like the blood from his face as he blanched at the position in which his brother was putting him. "Vhat do you expect me to do, Gil?"

At home, the older brother shrugged and leaned back against the wall again. "I do not care if I live or die. The only thing certain is that Romano vill not."

As Ludwig heard the conviction in his older brother's voice, the capo was silent a long time before he finally spoke, asking his brother the question that had been plaguing his mind all along.

"You vill be stopped. You must know...you vill be stopped...Do you think Feliciano vill stand by? Do you think the family vill let you get close enough?

His brother's answer sounded far away as it came to him, "Listen, mein bruder, ich liebe dich. Vhatever happens you must know that, ja? But you und I are both men of our words." Gilbert's voice was regretful, knowing his brother's heart as his own. "We keep our vows. You understand." The older brother's words of loyalty only served to further their growing divide.

Ludwig stood in the hall, the sounds of the club that had been so loud a moment ago were now but echos to his ears as his soul was torn. Slowly, with a deep intake of breath, the capo spoke into the receiver again, his brow furrowed, his heart heavy as lead.

"I vill keep mine."Ludwig sighed with resignation. " Ich liebe dich auch, so I vill never kill you bruder, ...but believe me vhen I say I vill stop you; I have to."

In his panic, Ludwig found himself returned to a little boy who looked up to his wild older brother, and with one last effort as the man he'd become, the tall blonde whispered into the phone, "This cannot end the vay you hope. Feli vill not let you kill Romano, I vill not let you hurt Feliciano!"

"YOU THINK I GIVE A FUCK? MY MATHEW IS..." Gilbert choked on his words, unable to bring himself to say the word 'dead', unable to face that truth with his voice. "YOU THINK I GIVE A FUCK WHO TRIES TO GET IN MY VAY?" He continued to scream into the phone, he'd lost it all, the only person to stir love in his heart, to make him think of, no, to desire commitment, He'd lost his Mathew, and now he was losing his brother, his only family.

Gilbert was unable to stop himself; he continued to speak dangerously low into the phone, "If your Feliciano is hurt, the only one to blame is Romano! He had no business shooting Matthew! He's always been reckless, hotheaded, sloppy und unprofesional! All of Chicago knows it! He has brought this on himself!"

Ludwig matched his brother's tone, "Gott Verdammt Gilbert! Do you think I do not know vhat a Schwanzlutscher Romano can be? It does not change the fact that he is Feli's brother und I vill not stand by und let you shoot him!" He continued softer as his heart told him his words were true. "I cannot".

Gilbert shook with the emotions coursing through his body, righteous anger, heartbreak, and surrender to his fate. The sound of his brother's acceptance of their opposing destinies only drove the wedge between them further in his mind. It was with despair that the pale man spoke the sentence he feared might be the last he spoke to his brother.

"I vill see Romano Vargas in the ground. I promise you that, und I vill kill anyone I must to avenge Matthew."

Before Ludwig could form a retort, his older brother had slammed the phone back on its handle.

Gilbert looked around the home he'd shared with his brother. The time he had had with Ludwig in their new life in Chicago ran through his mind. The nights he had worried about the strong man who was always 'little brother' to him, the talks they had had over beers in the kitchen, the times he'd teased the serious blonde about Feliciano and Ludwig's obvious feelings...The pale man walked to the door, wiping watery eyes with the back of the hand holding his pistol.

Crimson eyes glanced around the room. Gilbert was unsure he would ever return. He held no illusions about what he was about to do. The implications were clear and equally disastrous if he succeeded or if he failed.

As the pale man left his home, locking it for possibly his last time, and drove off without a backward glance, his younger brother was staring at the phone, unsure what his next move would be.

He would go to Feliciano. Ludwig would return to his love and tell him what his brother planned. It was his only choice. The broad shouldered German moved through the crowd as it parted under his stern and icy glance.

He recalled the photo he'd given his brother for Christmas. Ludwig thought abstractly of the boys who had smiled back in 1905 or 6, never knowing where their futures would take them and the world in which they lived. The fatalistic German capo steeled his heart as he started the engine and pushed thoughts of the brother who had raised him from his mind. He drove through the nearly empty streets on his way back to Feliciano.

_Feliciano._ He would think only of his beloved Italian and the vows he'd made. Vows he would keep.

…...

_Schwanzlutscher: cocksocker_

_Varum: why?_

...

Some moments later, as the capo stood with the mafioso, looking out at the city's skyline from the top story of the tallest building and held his love close, the bartender was far below them, blocks away.

Gilbert had left, intent on driving directly to Romano's but had ended up stopped in the icy parking lot below Alfred's apartment.

The pale German looked around at the tracks through the snow which the flurries were beginning to erase. Deep crimson eyes gleamed in the light spilling from the open door above as he looked up. All the lights were on, the door clearly hanging from broken hinges. No sounds came from the apartment above; no one was home.

Slowly, Gilbert shut off the engine and slid from his bike. With trepidation and a quickened heart, he walked through the blistering wind to climb the stairs. The pale man was a white as the snow around him and stepped slowly through the many footsteps that had crushed the snow along the stairs.

Somewhere beneath the many were his, from when he had left hours ago. A pang shot through his heart. Had Romano come afterwards or had he been right there, disguised in the shadows? The guilt coursed through his body. If only he hadn't left...

Gilbert pushed through the open door, knowing to wait wouldn't change anything. No mater how long he waited, no sweetly accented "Guten abend, Gil" would come when he stepped through the door.

The scene that greeted him told the story of what had happened.

The leaning Christmas tree first drew his eyes, followed by the pattern of bullet holes in the walls. Gilbert fixated on where the bullets had shattered lamps, broken mirrors, and embedded themselves in the wall.

Suddenly a familiar peep sounded and a small ball of fluff flew threw the air to land on his head.

He reached up and took the tiny bird in his hand with relief. "Gilbird, you're ok."

The relief didn't last long.

Finally his gaze moved down. Down to the floor. Beside the sofa. Near the entrance to the hallway. He stepped as though pulled by an invisible force. Pushing aside furniture that had clearly seen the forceful swipes of a pipe as Ivan had chased Romano from the scene, Gilbert made his way to a dark red stain on the rug.

The pale German dropped to his knees. The blood was still wet; it soaked through his pants where he knelt and covered his hands, cold and sticky against his skin.

Gilbird flew up above and cirled him as a low howl escaped his throat. The tears the crimson eyed man had kept back fell freely as he doubled over into the stain, hands raking through white hair leaving long red stains where it was pulled.

Cool, carefree, wild, he'd never cared for society's rules and had never feared much in life; When his brother had been imprisononed, when Romano's men had told him Ludwig was at death's door, and when he had thought he had lost Matt that same night. He had thought his world was ending then, when he had just found love, but the anxiety, the guilt, the sense of loss he had felt so keenly then, it was nothing to the electric shock of pain now coursing through his veins, flooding the heart that had once known love's touch.

It was all his fault; Luwig had been right, he should have stayed away from Mathew. Had he simply warned him, maybe Matt could have gone back home to Canada. He never would have been taken outside the hockey game...if he'd never gone, and if he hadn't left him there, alone.

Gilbert cried out in his native tongue; he cried out the cruelty of it all. The dormant faith he'd once held so devoutly poured from his lips as he screamed out to God.

Why, why had Mathew been the one to suffer? Why, when it was he who had given the worst the city had to offer a place, a safe haven? He had flauted the law, he'd watched crimes and never stopped them, he'd let his little brother fall into a life he'd never thought the straight laced soldier would have, surely wouldn't have,...if it were not for love.

"Liebe!" Love... Gilbert cried the word bitterly, dropping one hand from blood reddened hair to clutch at his chest.

This was his punishment? To find love and to have it taken from him? To lose Mathew, a man who had never done anything to deserve this fate? His loss left not only his soul torn and cold and empty, but the world...Gilbert's thoughts desolved into half formed words punctuated by sobbs as he remained kneeling, cursing the cruelty of God, cursing himself for bringing this end to his beloved.

_I vill protect you, I vill always protect you._ The words he'd whispered to his love after taking him away from the Belarussian's basement. These words, the many like them, the vows he'd made to protect his Matthew...they had all been empty, broken. Where had he been? At work. Because the bar was busy, made profits off the despair of the public on Chirstmas...that's why he'd left.

He'd left.

There was a soft peeping and gentle flutter of wings as his little bird hopped across the arch of his trembling shoulders. Gilbird's concern did nothing to stem the tide of the misery now pouring wordlessly in self loathing wails from the pale man's throat.

Gilbert stayed kneeling for how long, he had no idea as he had lost track of time. His head hung low as the tears fell into his Mathew's blood.

A lost soul, he drifted, shattered, unaware of all that happened around him.

The miserable wreck he had become didn't even notice as Ivan stepped through the damaged doorway to pick up his love's leather jacket.

The tall Russian cleared his throat, finally catching the German's attention.

Gilbert turned his face to Ivan, he blinked swollen red eyes, both the crimson pupils and the damage done from his uncontrollable tears. He was a shocking sight, but one the war-weary soldier had seen before. Ivan stepped over to the bloodied German.

Mathew's blood stained Gilbert's face and hair mixing with the tear tracks across his cheeks.

"I vill kill him. I vill kill him to avenge mein Liebe." Gilbert's words were simple and raw.

Ivan knelt down beside him. Violet eyes filled with sympathy. "Gilbert, Come with me, Mathew is at the hospital. Alfred would not leave him, but was cold, so..." Ivan lifted the jacket with his unbandaged arm.

The bolshevik's words took some time to filter through his mind. Gilbert stared at Ivan for some time, but when it finally sunk in that Mathew would surely not be at the hospital were he dead, that maybe the mafia had been wrong, he took hold of the Russian's scarf. "Matt...he is ok?"

Was it hesitation or simply that time was meaningless as Gilbert waited for Ivan's affirmation?

Violet eyes looked away for a fraction of a moment before Ivan took hold of his German friend's elbow, pulling him up as Gil's tiny yellow companion settled onto his shoudler.

"He is alive."

...

_End of chapter 16. _

_Please don't hate me! Tune in next chapter to see how Mathew is doing, to find out what reprecussions face Feliciano and his Famiglia, and what is to be done about Natalya, and will Arthur learn from his mistakes?  
_

_Again I apologize PROFUSELY for the wait, and PROMISE not to take so long on the next chapter after leaving you with such a cliffhanger. I mean it. I just finished two other fanfics I was working on between the last chapter and this, so it won't take me too long (:_

_A GIFT FOR MY PATIENT AND BELOVED READERS: I will write a drabble for you, using any of the characters in Hetalia you want. Let me know a basic theme you'd like in the reveiw, and I'll fill out a good couple thousand words for you. 3 I'll post it here on ff . net unless you specify that you'd rather have it on tumblr._

_Also, I love Prumano and will soooo be making things up to Romano in my next chapter of 'In the shadows of the Black Forest'_

_Danke, Spasiba, and Grazie for continuing to read my mafia fic, and pazhaloosta, please, please reveiw~ your words bring light to my heart! :D_

.


	17. Chapter 17

_Well, it's about damn time, huh? I'm so sorry for the wait, hopefully the chapter makes up for it! (It's Just Business is now over 200,000 words! Woot!)  
_

_Firstly, thank you all for not running away when I let bad things happen to Matt (It is always the innocent and quietly brave, tho isn't it?) _

_Secondly, thank you all for such wonderful reviews and such love! My inbox lit up with faves and author/story alerts, and it just makes my life! 3 You're all just so wonderful my lovely readers!_

_(another thing: I just discovered the page divider. How much of a dork am I? LOL Hopefully it will make reading my long chapters easier)_

_Without further ado,_

_Chapter 17_

**December 31st, 1920**

Nearly a week had past, and with it the date of Ivan's trial. Violet eyes stared out the single window of the third story hospital room. The snow that had fallen on Christmas now covered the ground, what once was pure and clean now dirty and soot blackened on the side of the road.

The Russian had no regrets about missing the trial. Yes, the sting of his patriotic duty mixed with worry for his older sister and the man he loved haunted his decision, but still he had no regret. Worried for his love's brother himself, he would never have left Alfred in his current state. Ivan's fingers moved over the ends of his scarf as his thoughts ran back to fallen comrades he had seen wounded; men left in a sleep from which they wouldn't wake.

He turned from the window to watch his American pace the room; Alfred's footsteps following a pattern they had kept for six days. On personal leave from work, Agent Jones had hardly left his brother's side. Had it not been for Ivan and Gilbert's urging, he would not even have stepped into the shower in the room, nor taken a moment for lunch in the hospital cafeteria. Leaving the large brownstone building was completely out of the question.

Alfred's only focus was to be there the moment his brother awoke. _When_ he awoke, never if, but only _when_.

This sentiment was of course, not Alfred's alone. As the federal agent paced and the bolshevik captain stood at the window, the pale haired bartender spent most of his days in a seat scooted up close beside his wounded love's bed.

Gilbert heard Alfred's footfalls as a background rhythm of the days he'd spent at Mathew's side. Nearly tuned out, the constant pacing was only white noise to his thoughts.

Thoughts that struck at his core; thoughts that were as hunters on his soul. Guilt, despair and hopelessness moved sluggishly through his sleep deprived mind. Had he been there, he could have done something. He could have stopped Romano. He could've protected Mathew.

_But, where were you, Gilbert?_ Guilt twisted his stomach and spoke snakelike in his heart. _You weren't there and you promised you would be._

White hair disheveled, the German lay his head back down on the mattress beside his beloved Canadian's hand. Gilbert moved his own pale hands up, criss-crossing fingers in his hair, crimson eyes shut tight as he prayed.

_Can you not take me? _In agreement with his hurtful thoughts, the once over confident man bargained with his creator. _Trade our places; let me be the one..._ The grip tightened on his hair as he couldn't bring himself to think the name of his love's affliction. Instead his thoughts dissolved into a single petition. _Bitte, bitte mein Gott, bitte?_

Feeling so utterly alone, though the shared trauma had formed a friendship between he and the other two men, Gilbert's heart was doubly wounded over the estrangement from the only other person to whom he had felt close. To whom he could once have gone in a time like this.

He would avenge his Mathew. Whether he and his brother could regain the bond they'd had...that was up to Ludwig.

The constant sound of Alfred's pacing was, as usual, the only sound in the room. Ivan turned back to the window, his expression unreadable as Gilbert languished in guilt.

The three men kept to this for some time; Gilbert beside the bed, Ivan at the window and Alfred's pacing, a heartbeat for the room.

When the door suddenly began to open, both the American agent and his Russian love turned toward the white-coated man now breaking the anxious silence. It had been a day since the doctor said he would be back with a prognosis. An entire day of nervous waiting as Mathew lay still and unconscious, his breathe light, seeming for all the world, simply asleep.

The physician looked around the room once, and spoke as he walked to check on his patient's vital signs. "Mr. Jones, would you like to step outside with me?" Satisfied that there had been no change, the middle aged man made a note in Mathew's file and turned toward Alfred.

"Anything you have to say, you can say in front of my friends." The agent felt his Russian love move closer, and though the pull to take Ivan's hand was overpowering, he fought it, gulping down the nerves building in his chest at the doctor's words.

Hesitantly, the man moved to the foot of Mathew's bed. After taking a deep breath, he made eye contact with Alfred alone, giving no thought to the Russian beside him, and even less to the German who's ears were tuned to the words he spoke.

"Mr. Jones, I'm afraid your brother's prognosis is...a bit unclear." Producing a chart of the brain, he went on, "You see here, to the left? This is where the bullet entered, above the eye. Things could certainly have been worse, I assure you it's amazing he lived, to be honest, Mr. Jones."

Alfred was silent, a man so often full of things to say, he stood still, his breath subconsciously held as he waited for the doctor to continue.

"You see, the bullet sliced through just the edge of the frontal lobe; this is good, it means his personality should be relatively unaffected. The trouble we run into with Mr. Williams is due to the way in which the bullet entered, it veered up, both saving his life and causing damage to the area known as Broca's area. This area governs speech and language expression."

Seeing the horrified look on his patient's brother's face, the doctor was quick to continue. "He will be able to comprehend what is said just as well as ever, it is only speech and writing that will be affected. He may also suffer some trouble with his memory, but we will simply have to monitor that...if able."

Alfred's words came slowly, "So...are you telling me, he won't be able to speak well, he won't even be able to write, to express himself?" Striken, Alfred took the seat on the opposite side of Gilbert just as the pale German had lifted his head and was glaring at the doctor as though he'd leveled a death sentence on his beloved, talented, scholar.

The pale man stood, his palor flushed with anger, "He speaks three languages! He is a professor! How vill he teach? Vhat vill he do?" Gilbert balled his fists and ignored the dizzy feeling washing over him from both panic and the speed with which he'd stood.

"Well, I'm afraid that will be...well, out of the question, frankly." The doctor looked gravely at the three men. "I'm sorry, but truly, the best we can hope for is that he will wake up. Having been in a coma six days, well, each day he remains unconscious, his chances go down."

All fire left the German's expression as Gilbert once again dropped into his seat, head resting beside Mathew's hand, this time he kept his eyes open, looking up at the sleeping face of the man he loved; blue violet eyes were peacefully closed beneath the few waves of blonde that fell over the bandaged area above Matt's eyebrows. Gilbert kept the tears back through sheer force of will, though he kept his face turned from the rest of the room as he listened to the doctor continue speaking to Alfred.

"Um, Mr. Jones, I have to remind you of the hospital's visiting policy." The man's voice dropped a shade, "Only blood relatives or spouses may stay over. All others must adhere to the visiting hours of 9am to 5pm weekdays."

Gilbert's pale hand tightened on the blanket covering his love. There was no way he was leaving. He thought grimly, _there is no man who can move me, let that Hurensohn try._

The doctor didn't know how lucky he was that it was Alfred who jumped up first from his seat.

Moving quickly, the agent flashed his badge in the physician's face as he pointed first to Ivan standing with arms crossed, and then to Gilbert whose fingers were gripped like iron on the crisp hospital bedsheets.

"This man is here at my request- working on a case, he's got people after him; he's not going anywhere." Alfred's blue eyes narrowed dangerously as he began to defend the very man he'd wanted Mathew nowhere near less than a month ago, "And this is...my brother's best friend! He's gone up the wrong side of the mob for Matt once already, and goddamnit, if I say he sticks around, he sticks around, got it?"

The man took a step back, "Alright Agent Jones, I can't argue with the government on your own affairs," He nodded toward Ivan, "But the _German_ will have to go. I really just can't let everyone's best chums stay over every night. Not without authorisation." The middle aged man shrugged his shoulders. "An overnight guest must be connected legally to the patient unless authorised otherwise."

No one missed the connotation in the man's voice, and Alfred knew were Gilbert of a different nationality, this would be less of a problem. Were he Matt's best girl, there likely wouldn't even be an issue.

Glancing toward Gil, who had looked up, still gripping the bedclothes tight, his eyes furious slits of blood red, Alfred reached into his jacket.

Withdrawing his weapon, the agent glared down the barrel at the physician. "Look here doc, I've got all the fuckin' authorisation you need!" Blue eyes glinted with the rage of a man too close to losing his brother to put up with injustice. "Matt will want him here. He stays."

Backing up fast, clipboard held in front of his face, the man was quick to give in. "Sure, Agent Jones, swell, he stays as long as he wants." Turning fast as he backed out the door, the doctor was just barely able to hear the federal agent as Alfred spun his gun and returned it to its holster. "Now you're on the trolley, doc."

Closing the door to the hall, the American agent's shoulders slumped from the bravado he had just worn. _What would Mattie's life be without speech? Without the ability to write? _And after the doctor's words sunk into his mind, Alfred allowed doubt in for the first time, _What if...what if Matt didn't wake up?_

Instantly he was enveloped in Ivan's arms, held tight against his broad chest. Alfred controlled his shoulders as they wanted to shake, controlled his voice as it wanted to waver, but leaning his head down onto his Russian's shoulder, he couldn't stop the tears as they fell into Ivan's scarf.

Turning away from the couple, Gilbert took Mathew's hand in his and bent to lay his head against the mattress once more.

* * *

As the bolshevik captain consoled the former flyboy, and the bartender's heart was breaking, in the center of the bureau of investigation, the mafioso was separated from his capo.

Feliciano and Ludwig sat in identical rooms, in simple metal folding chairs they each sat across a table, beneath the hot light that hung from the ceiling.

The mafioso calmed his heart; he'd been interrogated by the feds before, he knew the drill and what to do, he knew what to say and how to say it. Feliciano gulped once and twisted his fingers together beneath the table; yes he knew what to do, but never had the situation been so out of control, never had a hit been so messy...and never had he been called in with his capo, always before, the fuzz had summoned him alone.

As the investigator entered, Feliciano prayed that he and Ludwig each said the exact same thing when asked about Romano; if a single detail differed it would mean disaster.

"Mr. Vargas," Agent Jones' co-worker began, "I believe you know why you are here."

The Mafioso stayed as silent as his capo while in the room beside him Ludwig was asked the same question.

The investigator continued, "Of course you do, We have two witnesses who say they saw your brother shoot the brother of one of our agents. As it stands, the charges are the felanies of breaking and entering and aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, lowered from attempted murder only because the man he shot was not the one he was aiming for."

The petite crime boss crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Veh, I don't know anything about this. My brother Romano is in Sicily; he's been there for some time with our Grandfather." Feliciano continued, "It is certainly regrettable, what happened to Jones' brother, but I had nothing to do with it."

The agent stood in front of the table, looking down into the mob boss's caramel eyes.

Feliciano knew they had never gotten anything to stick, he simply had to keep playing the part.

"So," the man began, cutting to the chase, "Your brother wasn't carrying out a hit at your request? Wasn't trying to bump off the agent who's been investigating you?"

Feliciano looked up from his seat, eyes wide and innocent. "A hit? of course not; that would imply I run a nefarious sort of business, and there is no evidence of that, is there?"

In the room next door, Ludwig could just hear the sound of Feliciano's voice, but not the words he spoke. The tall blonde sat silently in the seat, the bright light of the interrogation room in his eyes.

"Well, you're one good soldier, aren't you Mr. Beilschmidt?" The interrogator was beginning to become impatient with the silence. "But of course, that's what you're paid for, isn't it?"

Blue eyes cool as steel, Ludwig finally spoke. "I do not know vhat you are implying."

"Hm. I bet." The agent began to pace the room. The German recognized the way the man held himself, the way his hands clasped behind his back as he paced, head held high. This man, like Jones, had been in the military. _Oh fantastisch..._ Ludwig thought sarcastically. This is just the sort of agent he'd get, one so close to his own age that they could have met in battle.

The other man stopped his pacing and swung the light fully into the capo's face. "So, if you're not a hired gun, what exactly is your relationship to Mr. Vargas?"

The question took him by surprise; it shouldn't have, but somehow the wording got to him. Fighting hard to keep his heart rate steady, to keep the rosy tinge from speading across his cheeks, Ludwig cleared his throat and answered quickly, "He is my employer und old friend."

The agent looked at the suspect sidelong. "Yeah, we know that much Fritz, but what does he pay you for, exactly?"

The capo's eyes went icy and he leaned forward under the light. "My name is Ludwig, not 'Fritz'." Crossing his arms, the tall man leaned back again. "I vas hired as a bodyguard."

When the investigator cocked an eyebrow, asking, "What does he do that would require a bodyguard?" Ludwig had an answer ready. "Feliciano Vargas is known und affluet; it is clear vhy he vould need a bodyguard."

The German capo kept his expression impassive as the other man was obviously becoming exasperated.

In the next room, the agent interrogating the petite Italian was becoming just as frustrated as his partner. "Don't you admit that it seems awfully convenient that your brother Romano is out of the country right now?" The man leaned both hands on the table and peered down at the babyfaced mafioso.

"Veh," Feliciano shrugged his shoulders, "Coincidence."

The agent straightened and switched directions, hoping to catch his suspect in a lie. "How long have you been in this country, Mr. Vargas?"

The question did seem to come from nowhere, but Feliciano kept his surprise from showing, merely shifting in his seat, the slight brunette answered honestly, "Just over two years."

"Just after the war..." The federal agent went on, "Interesting...I recall a very high profile death some months before the war ended, maybe you know who I refer to?"

He knew. The man was refering to the second cousin who's place Feliciano had taken. However, the mafioso wasn't as naive as he appeared at first glance. "No. Veh~ should I?"

The other man crossed his arms, "Someone else with your last name; another man who just always seemed to skirt justice. That is until his associates got to him."

Feliciano's heart began to race; he fought to keep his expression nuetral. He was the Don, he told himself, he could do this. Thinking back to all that his grandfather had taught him, the petite Italian smiled lightly. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"Another Coincidence?" The frustrated agent sighed.

"Si; yes." Feliciano corrected his words, intent on speaking perfect English during the interrogation. "And I think I'm finished talking with you. Veh~ if you have anything else to ask me, you can talk to my lawyer." The petite mafioso took a card from the breast pocket of his jacket and slid it across the table.

The card in his hand, the agent looked over the edge of the expensive cardstock, "Sure are a lot of coincidences; you seem to have the same lawyer he did."

As Feliciano shrugged, his German lover in the other room was finding it more and more difficult to keep his cool.

"So," The young investigator continued, "You don't care that it was your brother's friend who was shot? We have it on good authority that your older brother hasn't even been to work since the incident, so they must be close." The man went on, "This doesn't bother you?"

At Ludwig's silence he opened a file and flipped through the pages. "'Says here you two are all the family either of you have left." The agent spoke again in mock concerrn, "So he must be upset with you something awful huh? Maybe we can get him to come in and talk with us."

Ludwig knew he was caught. To say anything would imply guilt or invite more scrutiny. Gilbert's continued friendship with Jones proved he agreed with Jones' statement that it had been Romano. Regardless of the fact that Gilbert thankfully, had not been a witness, his stance was in line with the agent's. Not only this, but were Ludwig to speak against having Gil talk to the authorities, it would imply Romano's guilt and thereby Feliciano's.

His temper simmering under the skin at the mention of using his brother against him, the capo kept his arms crossed against his broad chest and his mouth shut tight.

"Shame, huh?" The agent went on. "To lose a brother." As Ludwig sat silent in his hostility, the man flipped through the pages in what was clearly a file all about him. "Looks like we've got a man by your name down as a P.O.W in the Italian camp...that's interesting."

The agent was sincerely trying the German's patience, and it looked as though he knew it. "Now you work for them." The investigator smirked in the overhead light, "Well, the pay must be good to get you to turn your back on your brother, your homeland, all you stood for…"

It was all Ludwig could manage to not reach across the table and strangle the other man. Aware of his jaw twitching, the blonde kept a tight hold on his tongue, kept his arms crossed, hiding clenched fists. He wanted to bellow that it was never his cut that kept him loyal to Feliciano, but where would that get him? Nowhere but in more trouble; much more trouble. The agent was only trying to bait him.

Ludwig stayed silent.

Just as the federal agent's frustration was beginning to boil over, the door to the interrogation room opened and the man who had been questioning Feliciano stepped in. "That's enough, we gotta let them go, unfortunately we just don't have enough to hold them." The man turned toward his superior, not noticing as a slip of paper fell from Ludwig's file.

Angrily, the man demanded, "I just need more time!" He didn't see the German capo as Ludwig caught the edge of the paper with one foot as it fell to the floor and steadily pulled it back toward him.

Ludwig watched and listened, standing from his seat as he carefully folded the page and slid it into the pocket of dark grey slacks, intent to read it once he was back at Feli's.

The two agents were arguing. The senior one who had questioned Feliciano explaining the need to go 'by the book' while the junior agent demanded they get their confession one way or another.

"That would make us no better than them, Jerry." The senior agent took the other by the shoulder and steered him out the door. "But Alfred would do it for us; what if it were your brother or sister?" The younger one, Jerry responded hotly. The other agent sighed and took some time answering, "I wouldn't want Al to get brought up by the ethics board or give these criminals one

more mistrial; c'mon, I'll take you for a coffee."

Ludwig waited a moment before following them out. He knew Feliciano would be waiting by the front for him as they had planned to do if separated. The words the men had said did bring a heavy cloud over his conscience; it was never as easy to rationalize when someone not involved in the business was hurt. His older brother had had a point, Williams didn't have anything to do with this world, and, Ludwig thought as he ran a hand through his hair, Romano wouldn't have hesitated to take out the Canadian. If Feliciano's brother had had even a moment to stop, they'd never know. Had it gone as planned, Jones would have paid for his brother's freedom and safety by dropping the case and leaving town. Of course that Belarussian had seen to the end of that.

Clearly, things could have gone much better than they had when Romano showed up just after Christmas. Though the agent was the mark, all witnesses there would have had to been taken care of. Ludwig began to wish he could have taken charge of the hit. He would have been less hasty, he would have waited until everyone was asleep and then simply abducted Jones in the night, taken him to the river and been done with it.

The tall blonde scowled as he walked through the halls toward the front lobby. His hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks, Ludwig felt the edges of the page from his file. He hadn't expected the Americans to have enough to fill the file so full in his short time in the United States.

Feeling the wintry breeze from the front doors as he neared the end of the hall and the beginning of the spacious entry, the capo took his coat from the crook of his arm and readied for the weather.

Slipping black gloves on as he entered the lobby, Ludwig's scowl disappeared as soon as Feliciano's smiling face came into view. Subconsciously his pace quickened to meet his petite love. The slight brunette almost bounced as he approached, and it was with great difficulty that Ludwig made sure his boss kept up their facade. Walking slightly ahead, the capo opened the door for his love and then followed the mafioso down the front steps of the federal building.

Once out in the blustery Chicago wind, both men buried their hands in pockets and hurried toward Ludwig's car.

The capo had parked behind the bureau where the wind was buffeted by the walls of downtown buildings on all sides. All the same, the car needed to warm up after turning the ignition before they could drive it. Shivering in the cold, the capo looked in all directions before reaching an arm out to pull his boss and love in close. Feliciano was affected by the cold far worse than Ludwig and his teeth chattered behind closed lips as he burrowed into his soldier's coat.

"Veh~" The Italian sighed into his lover's broad chest. "It is regrettable that Jones' brother was home...and that the agent and the Russian are alive to be witnesses."

Ludwig nodded and held Feliciano close. "Ja, regrettable."

The petite man raised his head quickly. "I'm so sorry about your brother amore mio!"

The larger man brushed a hand through his Italian love's mahogany hair. "Do not apologize meine Leibe; vhat is between Gilbert und I is between us." Ludwig's hand ran down from Feliciano's hair to his chin. "It is all just business, ja? I told him not to be involved with the agent's brother..." The blonde shook his head, the expression more for himself than for his love.

"Still, veh~" The boss reached both arms up around his capo's neck to pull himself up, and planting a kiss to the taller man's lips, he continued, "I wish things had gone better."

"I know Feli, I feel the same." Ludwig held his slender Italian tightly; rubbing his arm along Feliciano's to stimulate warmth as they waited for the engine to heat.

The two men sat together in the car, sheltered by the walls around the parking lot as well as the fog on the windows as the temperature inside rose higher than that outside.

For some time the two lovers simply held eachother, each man letting their thoughts run on silently, Ludwig's eyes drawn to the top of his Italian's head and the way the silken mahogany hair shone in the weak winter sun; Feliciano's eyes closed, his head back against his German man's broad chest, he listened to Ludwig's heart beat as he thought over the work they still had ahead of them.

It would be a long day.

When the mafioso and his capo could hide from the world no longer, Ludwig rufffled Feliciano's hair, rousing the smaller man from his thoughts. "Liebe, vhat time did you tell the men to meet us?"

Caramel eyes blinked in the sun as Ludwig reached across to wipe the fog from the windows. "We should meet them at the dock in," Feliciano took the pocket watch from his vest, "half an hour."

Ludwig nodded and putting his audi in drive, he pulled from the parking lot into the street and turned toward the harbour.

In exactly half an hour they were approaching the familiar abandoned building on the waterfront. Flashing his headlights to the car already parked in front, Ludwig signalled their identity. As the other car's headlights flashed on in response, the men inside signalled that all had gone according to plan.

The don sighed in relief beside his capo, echoing the blonde's feeling. _At last, something was going right._

Stepping out of the car, Ludwig and Feliciano greeted the made men.

"Veh, where is she?" the petite mobster asked his underlings, a worried expression flitting across his face. "I specified no harm come to her, capeche?"

A few of the men made vulgar gestures and though they were silenced quickly by their more mature fellows, this did not go unnoticed by the capo or his boss.

"Show her to us." Ludwig didn't have to say more for his threat to be understood.

Immediately, one of the more serious young men rushed to the back of the car and opening both back doors, he revealed the fully chloroformed, but unmolested Katyusha Braginskaya. The long legged madame lay on the floorboards, her arms and legs secured were she to awake early; short pale blonde hair free from the cloche hat that lay beside her.

"I'm in charge sir, see?" The American born boy, only a few years Ludwig's junior explained. "I didn't let any of the guys touch 'er."

Ludwig nodded over to Feliciano as he was just finishing admonishing his less respectful men. Though each was taller than their boss, Don Vargas spoke in a melodically soft, yet deadly voice as his grandfather had trained him. "Dr. Kirkland's actions will decide Ms. Braginskaya's fate, any harm that comes to her will be on his conscience, not mine. Remember that or I'll see that your punishment matches your sin."

The petite mafioso sighed as he turned away from the now humbled underlings and approached their unconscious captive. Standing beside his taller capo, Feliciano looked first to their enemy's older sister and then up into his love's blue eyes. Happy that things were going as planned, and that they would soon be one step closer to finding out how Arlovskaya had gained such intimate information, he winked one warm caramel eye at his love with a smile.

The young mafioso fought the urge to reach into his capo's warm pockets, and simply grinned happily up at the blush spreading over the German's face. Ludwig was thankful for the blistering wind that served as a cover for his rosy cheeks as he quickly looked away from his Italian love.

As Feliciano made it clear about how he wanted the Ukrainian woman handled and where she should be held, the capo moved to stand behind his boss.

Once his lackeys had left to carry the unconscious woman into the warehouse, the slender brunette shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and followed his broad shouldered blonde's longer strides as both men made their way back through blistering cold wind to the car.

As the couple drove toward the Englishman's underground den, the boss smiled softly up at his capo and scooted across the seat closer to his beloved German. Delighted by how Ludwig still blushed awkwardly, Feliciano leaned in to kiss his man's muscular upper arm as the tall blonde drove.

"Ludwig," the mafioso began, "I want to celebrate the new year just you and me;" Feliciano relaxed into the seat as an agreeable sound left his love's throat. " Veh, after the way this week has been...I just want to have a quiet night."

Blue eyes spared a quick glance to the right, and dropping one hand from the wheel, the German wrapped his Italian love under his arm and pulled him close. Turning into the curve ahead Ludwig pressed his foot to the gas and turned sharp bringing the slight brunette even closer.

"Vant to pick up some dinner after ve deal vith this problem?" Ludwig knew the answer, and a slight smile graced his usual serious expression as the smaller man lit up with a wide grin.

The boss closed his eyes taking the moment to simply lean into his lover's broad chest as they drove, "Si! Lets have all kinds; manicotti, ravioli, oh, fettuccini and linguine with clams, spaghetti, and of course we'll have to have some antipasto first...and something sweet afterwards..."

"Feli," Ludwig interrupted his sweetheart's thoughts, "You cannot eat that much pasta." The broad shouldered blonde glanced down, slightly worried, at the petite brunette as he drove.

The slender Italian laughed in response, "Well, no, not all at once Amore," Feliciano's eyes twinkled golden as he looked up at his serious man; and laying a hand to Ludwig's thigh, the Italian went on, "But I want a little of everything, and we can save the rest for later."

The German's azure eyes glanced to the hand on his leg as heat worked its way up the back of his neck. Feliciano's coat sleeve was scrunched up to his elbow as he leaned in, his crisp white dress shirt's cuffs clearly visible, and at his wrist glittered the amber and gold cufflinks.

The capo's heart was a lump in his throat. "Ja.." was all he managed to get out, reluctantly tearing his eyes from the symbol at his Feli's wrist and back to the road as they neared their destination.

It was moments like this, when the tall German held his petite Italian close, when for a few precious moments they could lose themselves in eachother, these were the moments that helped to silence Ludwig's worries about his brother all the last week. These moments were what he lived for, when he could feel love as he never thought he would, as he had never allowed himself to contemplate.

* * *

While the two mobsters arrived at their destination, pulling into the narrow alley, they were unaware of sharp blue eyes watching from the shadows. Unaware that their presence disturbed another's plan, Ludwig exited the car first, Feliciano following right behind him. Both men looked straight ahead as they strode, now side by side, to the windowless purple door. For now, all was business; the couple shared only one flash of a glance before getting to the work at hand.

"Merde."

The determined Frenchman had tucked a lock of long blond hair behind his ear with one hand while snuffing out his cigarette with the other. At the sight of approaching headlights. He ducked quickly out of the way, keen blue eyes peering through the dark. He slipped further into the alley, seeing the German capo's recognizable shock of blond hair cut through the shadow and beside him the more discrete slender frame of the mahogany haired Italian.

Even for a man new to America, there was no mistaking Chicago's most notorious criminals.

He watched as the petite mafioso unbuttoned his jacket, revealing his gun to the man on the other side of the door. The Englishman's lackey knew better than to get in their way and quickly moved aside, granting them access.

Were they here to cut another deal with that bastard peddler of poisons? He wondered. Trust the Brit to sell information as well as drugs, Francis felt his heart accelerate with anger; money before everything seemed to be Kirkland's law. '_Fils de pute.'_

Once the mobsters were inside, he carefully edged closer, concealing himself on the opposite side of the dumpster. It was a reflection of the gravity of his errand that he didn't spare a thought for the grime that was smearing onto his suit or of the danger of being caught. He had been stalking the Englishman for days, waiting, just waiting, for the perfect opportunity only to be thwarted at every chance. He consoled himself that the Brit's luck could not last forever. If he was patient and persistent, following the fallen doctor close as a shadow, he would inevitably seize the perfect moment to snuff out the other man's life.

He noticed immediately when Arthur exited the building, his bright disheveled hair and short stature giving him away immediately. To the Frenchman's chagrin he was followed closely; first by the barrel of a gun and then by the Italian holding it. The capo came last, looking sharply to the left and the right as his boss escorted their unwilling guest to the automobile.

He could barely control his rage. Carefully clipped fingernails dug into his palms as the crooner bit his own lip, ignoring the coppery taste of blood. If they killed him... if they took away his rightful vengeance...his chance to put right the wrong that had been done to his beloved Mona, his precious niece, it would be the end of him...

Taking a few calming breaths, Francis forced himself to think rationally. It was not guaranteed the mafia would be killing Kirkland tonight. It was more than likely a scare tactic to keep the good doctor in line, and if that were true, Francis swore he would not let his prey evade him again. He could not allow someone less deserving, some other underworld dog, to sink their teeth into the throat he had promised to slit. Arthur Kirkland would rue the day he sold his nefarious wares to a promising young ballerina who bore the last name Bonnefoy.

As the French singer picked himself up and dusted the filth of the alley from his clothes, the German capo's foot rested heavily on the gas pedal, propelling the mobsters and their reluctant companion away from the heart of the city.

* * *

As Ludwig drove, Feliciano was turned in his seat. The mafioso faced the back, his gun still trained on the furious green-eyed man.

Bravely, the Brit faced his captors. Sure he was going to die, the dealer held his chin proudly. "Well? You bloody wankers, spill alright? What d'you want with me?" The mobsters had been particularly hush, but Arthur couldn't ignore the sinking feeling that somehow they knew he'd blabbed to Natalya. _But they didn't know he knew...right? There was no way…_

However unlikely, Arthur couldn't help feeling if it were anything else, there would have been more of the Don's made men. Green eyes steady on the gun, the Brit's thoughts raced ahead, _Surely, young toughs would have been sent to rough him up, not Vargas himself and his ruddy kraut capo..._

Feliciano simply smiled infuriatingly, eyes crinkled half closed and carefree. "Veh, Dr. Kirkland, we simply wanted to take you for a little ride." The petite Italian's words filled the Englishman with dread and as the Mafioso went on the sense of unease spread through Arthur's bones.

The young Don's eyes opened with an easy warmth and he leaned forward, the pistol still aimed directly at the dealer's heart. "We have something to ask you." His smile far too relaxed for the way the words fell ominously from his tongue, Feliciano continued, "And something to show you."

"Show me… what?" The blonde's eyes narrowed as his heart cooled and dropped to his stomach. _He never should have made a deal with the mafia_. Arthur's thoughts were filled with rue. _Deals with the family always came at too high a price_. Whatever it was they had to show him, the Brit didn't have any idea, but he was certainly wondering what good the added financial success he'd gained would do him at the bottom of the river.

Silence hung heavily in the car as the buildings passed by in a blur. Arthur's eyes flickered from the gun aimed on his heart up to Don Vargas' far too easy going expression and back as they left the city.

Keeping his chin stubbornly high, his expression impassive, the Englishman didn't allow his emotions to betray him. It was clear they were headed for the waterfront. He was in the back of a car driven by the most feared men in Chicago, on his way to the freezing dark green waters of the Calumet.

What did he have to lose?

"Well Gents," Arthur began, now looking from the Italian's too calm expression to the back of the German's head as Ludwig drove, "You know I enjoy a drive as much as the next bloke, but why don't you just ask me what you have to ask me right here?" He worked himself up as he felt the car slow and pull into the empty parking lot of an abandoned fishing warehouse. "Why don't we have this little chat in the car?"

This time his answer came from the German, who, while parking the car, turned back to face the captive dealer with an expression as serious as death. "You don't vant to do that."

Feeling panic vie with obstinacy, Arthur sat up straight and moved forward in his seat. "Oh yeah? I don't, do I? What could be worse than what you're already going to do to me, you bloody kraut?" The shorter blonde's heart was racing in his chest, his face flushed with anger. Arthur kept one train of thought forefront in his mind at the look now crossing the German's face_, If he was going out, he was bloody well going out swinging._

Ludwig's cool blue eyes narrowed dangerously. He could see the fear behind the Englishman's bravado, but also knew the other man was serious. As much as he'd love to give the second man to insult his nationality in the day a chance to back up his words with actions, this was not the plan they had for the impudent Brit. The taller blonde clenched his fists and muttered beneath his breath, "V_enn es eine veitere Beleidigung für meine Nationalität…"_

Green eyes noticed those of caramel as Feliciano's vision shifted to his German lover's clenched fists and tight set jaw. "Sobald vir…brauchen…" The Italian looked back at the Englishman darkly as he whispered broken, unfamiliar German into his capo's ear, "…ihn nicht lebendig, meine Liebe…"

Arthur cocked an eyebrow, _did these two really expect no one could tell? _He stayed silent; only half caring what the Mafioso had said. So sure of his own doom, here on the outskirts of the city, Dr. Kirkland never expected what he heard the petite Italian say when Feliciano turned back to face him fully. As Ludwig got out of the car, and began to open Arthur's door, the young Don spoke in his sweetest and oddly terrifying voice. "Veh, It is not what will happen to you, but to the one we have inside if you do not cooperate."

Nothing more need be said. The English dealer obliged quickly, exiting the car and moving through the wind toward the desolate building. It was a short list indeed that comprised the people he cared about in the world. A very short list. His brother, though they fought more often than not, and to his frustration, the flyboy and his twin who still had a place in his heart due to the friendship they had shared years ago; and of course, the statuesque Ukrainian madame he felt himself falling for more and more each day.

It was highly unlikely that the mafia held his older brother, and were Vargas to have Alfred in custody, he'd be killed outright, not used as leverage; besides they didn't know the two had ever had history. This left only one person Arthur had made vulnerable with his affections. Katyusha.

The Englishman's steps quickened as he rushed inside the warehouse ahead of the other men; he turned quickly, looking around the small office room they had entered. "This isn't all there is." Emerald eyes wild, the dealer turned back to his murderous associates. "Where is she, then?"

The capo finished securing the door behind them and turned to meet his beloved boss's gaze; at Feliciano's nod, Ludwig crossed the room, taking the Brit forcibly by the shoulder as he did so.

Ignoring Arthur's protests, the taller blonde steered the shorter man to stand in front of a window, shielded by blinds.

One strong hand gripping the British dealer's shoulder, the German's expression was flat and serious. This was business, and whatever happened next depended upon the opium peddler's answers. Ludwig took hold of the dangling pulley and opened the blinds. He spoke crisply to the shorter man, "Do not vorry, it is a one way mirror. She can not see you."

The Brit stared past the blinds, unblinking, his face expressionless.

For a moment, the mobsters looked to one another. Maybe they had made a mistake. Maybe the madame hadn't meant enough to the Doctor. The tall German capo looked from the petite mafioso and back to the woman below on the warehouse floor before Ludwig's pale blue eyes narrowed in Arthur's direction. The ruthless man was torn between disappointment that it seemed they did not have the leverage they needed, and repulsion that it appeared the former physician truly cared so little for the woman.

But this repulsion and disappointment didn't last long.

As the shorter man stared down through the window at the floor below, his emerald eyes were impassive for only a second before narrowing as his heartbeat increased. Arthur looked down from the office to the main floor of what he now recognized to be an empty fishing warehouse. Katyusha had clearly only recently woken; she fought against the ropes binding her wrists and ankles in vain.

The long-legged madame had been placed on a blanket spread out on the cold concrete floor. To her back, a large hole dropped off from the floor into the freezing dark green waters of the river. Katyusha lay on her side, turned toward the rickety staircase that led up to the office, blessedly unable to see her British beau looking down upon her.

The rhythm of his heart beat furiously behind his ribs, pulsing angrily through his veins, Arthur turned, and though he tried to stop himself, tried to remind himself that the mafioso wanted a rise out of him, wanted him to lose his composure and control, though the voice of reason in his mind told him, '_keep calm old man'_ there had been no hope for it. Not after he'd been able to see panic is beautiful blue eyes as his Kat struggled on the cold floor alone, unable to free herself.

"You bloody bastards." The dealer moved away from the window, his back to the wall, fire pumped through his blood though it felt like ice in his veins. "You bloody mother fucking cunts." Arthur realized all too late that he had backed himself into a corner. Gulping down the sudden fear, the Brit glared at the other men in the room, his chin held high, he spat on the floor at his feet and though it was a lost cause, and sure they knew what he'd let slip to Natalya; sure this was where he would meet his death, the Brit looked first to the German and then the Italian. "Well what now, nancy-boys?"

There was just a fraction of a breath when time stood still. The capo's jaw clenched tightly as his fists at either side, the mafioso's caramel eyes flew wide and met with the slits of pale blue across the room before both turned toward those of defiant emerald. They had expected to put the fear into the audacious brit, had intended to remind him of his duty to relay all of the Belarussian's activities…but had they underestimated him, or his part in their current situation? Did he know more than he had let on?

Dr. Kirkland's breathe came slow and steady, so sure he was that each would be his last.

And then time moved again, and with it, the men in the room, seemingly freed from a spell, the mobsters were upon the dealer, trapped in his corner.

Ludwig could barely think over the sound of his heart beating erratically fast in his ears. The strong man gripped the former doctor by his collar, and lifted the shorter man to slam him hard against the wall. The German bellowed above the pounding pulse of his heartbeat, "Do you know vhat I do to men who show such disrespect?" Not allowing the impudent Brit an answer, he now spoke low, each syllable dripping with murderous intent and stressed with impatient necessity. "Now you vill tell me vhat are you talking about, und who you have been talking too." Before the green eyed man could answer, the capo went on. "Choose your vords carefully, Herr Kirkland."

Feliciano stepped close, as close as he dared to his loyal lover and devoted soldier. The petite boss knew he walked on thin ice; knew that how many people he had to kill today depended on the Brit's response. "Veh" He sighed, straightening the cuffs of his crisp white shirt, "Believe me, I would rather not kill you, even after such rude words... but I can not speak for my capo..." The slight Italian removed his coat and jacket, and loaded his pistol as he spoke, the gold at each wrist flashing against the cool silver steel of his weapon. "So, make this easy for everyone, si? Tell me the truth; what do you think you know, and why wasn't I informed that Natalya Arlovskaya was still in America?"

Instantly regretting his rash behaviour, Arthur's eyes flicked to the window where he could still hear soft sobs amidst the sound of his Ukrainian beauty struggling to escape.

"I..uh...don't know anything, and haven't been talking to anyone." The drug dealer shrugged in the German mobster's grip. "Oi, you mind easing up a bit, chap?" Arthur slipped back into a cool, calm demeanor, hiding the hatred still pulsing in each heartbeat.

Instead of loosening his grip, the capo tightened his hold on the other man's collar. Ludwig spoke dangerously low again, piercing sky blue eyes glaring daggers, "Lies vill only get you killed."

The mafioso shook his head. Mahogany hair falling into his face as Feliciano sighed. "Tell me about Arlovskaya. Veh..what is she doing? Who has she been meeting with? And," The slender Italian sighed, his caramel eyes looking into emerald dispassionately, "why shouldn't I use her sister to teach her a lesson?"

The young don's heart was racing as he stood next to his beloved and interrogated the British dealer. Feliciano spared only the tiniest of glances toward Ludwig. The broad shouldered blonde was focused on the work at hand, jaw tight, eyes cold as the cool blue of the winter sky. The slight brunette was, as always, impressed with his love's devotion and work ethic.

When finally the dealer answered, it was clear to the mobsters that some sort of epiphany had occurred inside the Brit's mind.

Arthur had silently analyzed the questions and deduced that his dangerous Italian associate knew what Arlovskaya knew, but not who had told her. He could simply blame it on that barmy Belarussian and possibly save his and Katyusha's lives. Thinking fast had saved his skin more times than the ex-doctor could count; and so he spoke as fast as his thoughts, trusting his silver tongue to save him.

"Right gents, lets start over, shall we?" The Englishman suggested, still all too aware of the German's grip on his collar. "As to that loony dame Natalya, I simply thought you already knew she was still in the states." Arthur shifted against the wall as he went on, " And, true, I've heard some things." Emerald eyes met those of caramel and sapphire bravely before looking past them as he continued, "all lies, I'm sure."

Ludwig wasted no time, and tightened his hold on Arthur's collar. "Ja, und if you have repeated them,.. I vonder how vell you swim vith a cinderblock at your feet?"

The shorter blonde cleared his throat nervously and looking away from the slits of ice blue glaring at him, he appealed to the Don. Arthur put on his best angelic expression, "Of course I didn't repeat this _obvious_ lie, I know better than that don't I?"

Feliciano bit at his lip. The petite Italian was torn. _Should he bump off both the doctor and madame now, simply for knowing too much, then go after the Belarussian before she could do more damage... _He fiddled with his gun and glanced toward his hardworking love again. _...Or should he keep Kirkland alive to report on Arlovskaya's activities? They still didn't know exactly how the Belarussian had found out about them..._

Taking a deep breathe, the petite mob boss came to a decision. All would depend on the answer he received now. The slender brunette moved closer to his captive associate. "So...this rumour about us," Feliciano worked hard to keep his voice from wavering. If the Belarussian spread what she knew, worse yet, if she managed to find the proof she nearly had a week ago, it would all be over.

"Veh~ This rumor, where did you hear it?"

Feliciano watched Arthur carefully, his heart racing he waited for the Brit to answer. Green eyes glanced to the window once before facing the Italian.

"Arlovskaya, of course." Arthur lied easily, "I don't know where she got her information, but the crazy dame told me she had some dirt on you." The Brit shrugged, turning his gaze back to the blue eyed German. " _but of course_, I didn't believe her. Now how about you be a good bloke and let go, hm?"

The capo glanced toward the boss and at the smaller man's nod, reluctantly released his hold.

Stepping back, Ludwig stood beside Feliciano. Folding his arms across his chest, the tall German admired his lover's ruthless approach. The petite brunette was at once his geliebte, the innocent, sweet, and devoutly religious man he'd met so long ago, and at the same time, able to be the coldly decisive boss of the most notorious outfit of the largest criminal organization stretching across both Italy and the United States. The responsibility and danger that rested on his beautiful Italian's slender shoulders both impressed and filled him with insurmountable anxiety.

Ludwig moved his hands to the pockets of his coat while silently watching his Feli make things perfectly clear to the wayward Englishman.

Beside his German love, Don Vargas toyed with his gun absently as he spoke to the defiant Brit. "I hope that's true Kirkland; veh, I won't let my reputation be ruined by that Belarussian." Caramel eyes met and held the former physician's. "Or by anyone else."

Falling silent for some time, the babyfaced boss finally sighed and spoke in the same soft voice he'd used to give many a final goodbye in the past.

"Veh, Dr. Kirkland, you remember what your job is, si?" After waiting for the other man to nod his disheveled blonde head, Feliciano went on. "To watch that Belarussian who thinks she can take down my famiglia, and to report back to me." Sighing again, the Italian took a step closer to the Englishman. "Veh~ Do you know what will happen if you forget who you work for... doctor?"

At the dealer's careful silence, the boss turned toward his devoted capo with a smile. Ludwig stepped forward, and in response to the lifted chin and eyes filled with green fire that looked up with unconcealed contempt, the soldier reached into his coat and pulled out his weapon.

Coldly, the mobster took aim at the dealer, selecting his target. Before Arthur could blink, Ludwig fired into the wall, a mere fraction of an inch away from the other man's head.

"You vill not forget, Ja?" The German tilted his head in toward the Englishman as the blood pumped through the dealer's veins, adrenaline racing throughout his body. Ludwig's cool azure eyes locked onto the shorter man's constricted pupils as he clarified. "Because if you do, my bullet vill not be so forgiving next time."

Quickly silencing the retort forming on the Brit's lips, Feliciano chimed in, "But don't worry, we won't let you die alone." At his love's words, the taller blonde nodded toward the window and the woman now struggling to her knees a floor below.

Arthur's blood cooled to ice as the petite mafioso spoke again. He watched the silent communication between the mobsters while still listening to what the boss said, he let his thoughts form beneath the shaking rush of adrenaline and defiance boiling in his blood. They seemed to have bought his lie, but what the two most feared men in Chicago didn't understand was that business agreement or no, Arthur Kirkland watched out for himself above all else. Now that they'd threatened his Kat, he'd be waiting for the opportunity to pull a double cross.

Answering only to his own code, the former doctor knew he wouldn't side with Katyusha's unstable sister, nor would he turn clean and side with the law, but being a man able to walk the line of grey between a black and white world, he knew his chance would come eventually.

Abruptly, the don interrupted the dealer's thoughts, "So we have an understanding?" The young boss finished, "You'll play the hero, so you can return to the Gold Star and give me constant updates." Feliciano sighed, "We need your cover intact. I want to know what she does, who she meets, where she goes and what she plans, capeche?"

Silently, Arthur nodded; the emerald fire in his eyes turned inward with the contempt he hid behind acquiescence.

"Naturally, you'll need to learn a lesson." The slight Italian glanced upward at his ruthless and loyal German love while he pulled on his coat once more and buttoned up against the howling Chicago wind. "Veh~ I can't have you forgetting to pass on information again."

The mafioso ignored the sudden and expected exclamation, as the Englishman's defiance bubbled to the surface in a few choice words.

Turning now, his back to the British dealer, Feliciano Vargas stood as straight as he could, it had been a long day, and all he wanted to do was go home and curl inside the curve of his Ludwig's arm; but he was the boss, the don, and he had to wear that identity well, never showing weakness. The slender man sighed and turned a secretive smile and a wink up to his beloved.

A rosy flush spread across the capo's cheeks at odds with his tense expression, as the seemingly carefree Italian mouthed silently to his strapping blonde, _Don't take too long amore mio._

With that the boss shoved his hands into the pockets of his double breasted wool coat, knowing that if he didn't, he may not be able to resist the urge to brush a finger over his love's muscular arm, and if he did that he'd simply have to shoot Kirkland and find a new spy...

The capo's eyes turned involuntarily watching his petite Italian leave, before Ludwig shifted his attention back to the seething Englishman backed against the wall.

The capo addressed the drug dealer, "Vell, Kirkland, vhat vill it be? Vould you rather be shot or beaten?"

Rolling his eyes, the Brit scoffed. "Bloody brilliant choices."

"Be grateful you have one." Ludwig stepped closer to Arthur, sky blue eyes reduced to slits, "If I hear you've passed on this...rumor about...Don Vargas und I..." The German's voice dropped low, "I vill kill you."

Unable to stop himself, Arthur sneered, his contempt impossible to hold back. "Whats this then? You mean without _Feliciano's permission_?"

"Danke." A shadow crossed the capo's face as the Englishman's jeering words made the decision for him. "Du machen meinen Job viel einfacher."

Before he had a chance to form some kind of retort, something about how he hadn't the foggiest idea what the German had said, Dr. Kirkland found himself doubled over, having been just punched hard in the gut.

Infuriated that he had to hide the way he felt for Feli, frustrated that their rival knew their most dangerous secret, and at the moment, seeing the oppositional Brit as an embodiment of all the prejudice he'd faced since coming to this country, as if the fall of his homeland into poverty hadn't been enough, Ludwig followed through with an uppercut to the jaw, driving the back of the Englishman's head into the wall before he slid, his equilibrium knocked, down to the floor.

Arthur reeled from the hit, his teeth aching, and a bruise blooming on his jaw as surely as the knot would be on the back of his skull, the stubborn man nonetheless spat the blood from where he'd bitten down on his lower lip, and glared upwards into the capo's cold eyes as Ludwig prepared to leave.

"Oi, you kraut git, that all you've got is it? Wanker."

The German turned back to the Brit, and in one swift movement, a flash of steel, Ludwig had aimed his pistol squarely at Arthur's head. "Nein. You vant more?"

Arthur staggered back up to his feet, and bracing against the wall, the dealer faced the capo. Unsure if what he was doing was brave or idiotic, he returned the German's glare. "You can't kill me. You don't want to upset your _boss._"

Silence hung in the room for the space of a few heartbeats.

Finally, Ludwig spoke, his words crisp and cold as his eyes. "Correct." The German knew what the Englishman meant by the perfectly placed stress on the last word, and he vowed to himself as soon as Arlovskaya was taken care of and the seedy opium pusher had served his purpose, he'd be the one to take him for a ride. It was only the lack of proof that saved the foul mouthed Brit now. Ludwig stepped close again, and moved the gun from the shorter man's forehead to his shoulder. "So you vill live. For now."

As the last syllable dropped, the capo pulled the trigger, the shot echoing throughout the building, Ludwig watched the doctor's face with satisfaction as the bullet sliced through sinew and bone to lodge itself finally in the wall, as wincing in pain, Arthur dropped to his knees again.

Without another word, the capo left the dealer to stem the crimson stain now spreading down his sleeve.

* * *

For a few painful minutes, Arthur stayed on the floor of the office, holding his shoulder, he wavered dizzy from the sudden loss of blood as well as the lights still dancing in his vision from the initial head injury.

But as the engine roared outside and the mobsters could be heard driving away, the green eyed man swayed to his feet and to action. Bursting through the door, he staggered down the stairs toward the terrified madame.

The Ukrainian looked toward the Englishman, teary blue eyes turning wide with recognition and concern. Katyusha tried to sit up on her knees as Arthur approached, and though the bonds at her wrists prevented her from succeeding, the former doctor had seen what she was trying to do, and looping his unwounded arm through hers, they worked together to pull her up to a kneeling position.

Dropping fast to his own knees, the dealer reached first around her head, through soft blonde hair, to untie the gag preventing his beautiful business woman from speaking. No sooner had the twisted fabric fallen then his name came from her newly freed lips "Arthur!" Katyusha breathed his name with relief. "How did you find me?"

Choosing not to answer that particular question until he could come up with a believable reason, the brit couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes, couldn't face her with that question when the reason she'd ever been brought there in the first place was his fault. Instead, he moved around behind her to free her wrists and then with care, the bonds at her ankles. Once free, the madame scrambled to her feet and turned to embrace the man who had come to her rescue.

Lifting Arthur up fully as she stood, and with care for his bloodied arm, the taller woman tilted her head to meet the shorter man's lips with her own. The kiss was passionate and grateful, and it took him by surprise. The feel of her soft lips on his made the dealer nearly forget himself and where they stood, made him wish he could forget entirely.

Breaking from their kiss and holding the Brit in close, Katyusha gushed, "Arthur! You saved me; I thought I would die for sure!" She held him tightly to her bosom and as the tears streamed freely down her cheeks, she continued "You took a bullet to get to me! You are my, how do you say? My knight in shining armor!"

Her words were as a knife through his heart, making the organ feel as though constricted, his stomach as though it were full of lead, heavy with guilt. How he wished her words could be the truth. Still not quite meeting the watery blue eyes that looked so gratefully to him, Arthur cleared his throat lightly and after wiping his blood from his palm onto his trousers, he took her hand in his and began to woozily lead the way back up to the stairs.

"Lets just get you out of here alright, lovey?"

Katyusha nodded and the two made for the stairs leading up and away from the freezing, empty storeroom. Suddenly, a realization struck the British doctor. "Ah, Kat, doll, I didn't drive...and a lady shouldn't be made to walk through the snow." Arthur wondered if he could get to a payphone and call one of his sellers to pick them up when looking around, he suddenly noticed the storeroom wasn't as empty as he had first surmised.

"A moment, lovey..." mumbling,he stepped away, and then hurried to drag a canvas covering from tops of large unknown shapes. Seeing him struggle with just one arm, the Ukrainian madame rushed to his aide, and together they tossed the large canvas tarp to the side.

Cars. Two, clearly stolen and stored there; license plates conspicuously missing. Emerald eyes glinted with opportunity.

Thinking fast, he pointed to the glove compartment. Katyusha leaned into the window of the passenger side and hit it hard with her fist. The compartment door fell open, and just as he had suspected, a single key on a piece of thread shone golden in the light.

Arthur looked to Katyusha with a satisfied grin, "Where else would you need to leave the keys to a stolen car." Ever aware of his manners, the Brit held the door open for the Ukrainian madame who smiled and shook her head.

"Nyet, Arthur, you have lost too much blood moi muzhik." She hummed as she took the key and slid into the driver's seat. "I'll drive, you rest."

Hours later, after the sun had disappeared fully from the horizon, the doctor was reclining in the madame's lap on her down filled bed, his wound cleaned, a joint lit and held comfortably between two fingers, fresh tea on a tray and his leggy Ukrainian bird brushing her fingers through his unruly blonde locks, Arthur's guilt was beginning to dissipate. His thoughts were as fluid as the drops of the poppy's essence that floated in his tea.

What harm would it do Kat if her psychotic sister was out of her hair, really? Natalya only terrified her older sister, and surely, surely, the best thing to do for both of them, and their businesses would be to give the crazy Nat to the Italians, and the Italians to the feds...

* * *

While the British dealer relaxed, feeling the gunshot wound and solid punches had been thoroughly worth the pain, the man who'd dealt the blows was striding along the docks a step behind his boss and love.

Ludwig and Feliciano had just left the boathouse turned hideout filled with Kiku's yakuza friends. The handful of Japanese mobsters had arrived in record time from across the world to help their fellow hide and guard his Italian friend.

The petite mafioso had promised to keep his older brother informed and was just leaving after a long conversation with the hotheaded Romano. A long conversation accompanied by a few glasses of wine and generous helpings of pizza as he and Ludwig had reluctantly stayed to share the offered dinner instead of leaving on their own.

Feliciano strode through the splashes of light spilling from the docked boathouse's windows until finally in the shadows near Ludwig's car, the don turned toward his capo. The wind swirling harshly across the river held no bite as the slender boss reached for his broad shouldered love.

Leaning against the cool metal of the audi, the don unfastened the buttons of his German lover's coat and taking hold of the lapels, pulled the blonde in toward him, enveloping himself in the larger coat, pressing into his beloved's warmth. "Veh~ Ludwig, it's been such a long day..."

Caramel eyes gazed up through dark lashes into those of softening sky blue as the slender Italian reached his hands up around his lover's neck, and twirled the small golden hairs with nimble fingers. Stepping up on his toes, the boss brought his lips to his capo's in a kiss empassioned by a day of longing. Feliciano let loose a soft moan as he parted his lips, granting the well loved tongue access as his German love deepened their kiss. Silently, strong arms encircled the slender Italian, one of Ludwig's large hands at the small of his back, the other combing through soft mahogany hair, teasing the wayward curl.

Reluctant to release eachother, the two mobsters held on closely, oblivious to the howling wind. They broke contact for only the shortest of breathes and even then, the slight brunette whined in complaint at the loss as he left tiny kisses to the tall blonde's neck and chin. Feliciano's affection was returned in kind, as Ludwig toyed with his lover's curl and ran a hand along his Feli's back.

Their lips locked together again, the serious German relaxed, willing himself to forget everything but Feliciano. The troubles with his brother, the Belarussian problem, the rival families, all these fell to the wayside when his beloved Italian's lips were pressed against his own. The capo lifted the mafioso up onto the hood of the car, and let loose a happy moan low in his throat, as his love wrapped both legs around his waist, drawing them even closer together.

"Mmm," The brunette murmmered raking his hands through his lover's flaxen locks.

Here in the shadows of the winter night, beside the river, there were no rivals to eliminate or impress; there were no witnesses to silence, no work to be done, only the don and his capo. Feliciano felt the weight of his worries fall away as his beloved man deepened their kiss.

In contrast to the cold north wind swirling around them, heat spread over Ludwig's body from his neck to his face, down across his chest over the racing heart beneath his ribs, it radiated to his slender love, as Feliciano whispered between breathes in soft, melodic Italian or bits and pieces of accented German he had been teaching himself.

The capo had no fear of being discovered in the shadows of the waterfront; Ludwig found himself wondering momentarily if he was allowing himself to become too lax. Could they chance being seen when already too many knew their secret?

But even this anxiety was pushed from the hard working soldier's mind as his petite love tightened his legs around the German's waist and breaking from the kiss, Feliciano breathed against Ludwig's lips, his breathe smelling as sweetly of wine as his lips had tasted, "Ti amo."

The capo's heart jumped in his chest and he realized regardless of the danger facing them, he held the man he loved in his arms. Ludwig had vowed to do all he could to keep his beloved Feli from harm and securely in his position. Only a month ago, he never could have imagined he'd be standing on the docks, feeling the boss's heart race against his own, the slender man enveloped inside _his _coat, sitting atop _his_ car, legs wrapped around _his _waist.

The serious blonde's thoughts ran deep as his hands moved along his lover's back stimulating warmth and keeping the Italian held close to his chest. Ludwig moved his lips to kiss along Feliciano's neck, pausing to leave a light bite at the mafioso's earlobe.

Things had changed so much since the days of the German's denial and the Italian's lonely dreams, and both men knew that though their occupation was an unforgiving one, and one in which a man could never expect to live an easy life, love was worth the risk.

The tall blonde held onto his sweet and dangerous brunette, he held him now, had his love now, and even if fate conspired against them, as the odds were stacked, Ludwig had Feliciano now, and that was more than he had ever hoped or dreamed possible.

The capo's hands trailed up the boss's back into smooth mahogany brown locks as the strong German returned to his lover's welcoming lips. His heart light at the feel of his Italian's sigh, Ludwig answered back, moving his lips against Feliciano's, his voice a low, soft, but possessive sound. "Ich liebe dich auch, Feli."

* * *

While the mobsters hid their love in the velvety dark of the winter night, trusting the steel both men carried to protect them, the BOI agent sat despondently upon a bench in the hallway outside his brother's room. Agent Jones had just called in to the bureau to check on the progress being made against the Don's brother only to be told to _'take it easy'_ to '_be with family_' and '_relax and leave the case to us._'

Leaning his head back against the wall, bloodshot blue eyes stared up to the patterns of the ceiling tiles above. Didn't they understand? He had to know, he had to work, to be active. If he didn't occupy his mind with what was being done to bring that two-bit gangster in, then his mind would return to dwelling on the fact that his brother was still unconscious. His thoughts would return to racing through his mind...Mattie wasn't waking up, and now..

The doctor's prognosis only added to the agent's worries. Alfred felt the dread come over his heart, just as it had permeated the room when they'd first gotten the news earlier that day.

Closing his eyes, Alfred moved his head from against the wall to rest his chin in the palms of his hands, elbows resting on his knees. The weary agent neither saw nor heard the footsteps of his Russian love as Ivan walked toward him down the hall.

"Alfred, moi Lyoubov." Ivan stood, looking down concerned for the other man's lack of sleep. The bolshevik soldier held out a cup of steaming coffee to his despairing American.

The agent took the offered cup with a wan smile. "Thanks, Vanya." He sighed and removed his glasses to rub weary eyes with the back of one hand. Taking a sip of the dark, thankfully caffeinated liquid, the blonde stood and took his lover's offered hand. It was late and they were far from the nurse's station, which meant that at least they could be themselves.

The couple made their way back to the room slowly. For Alfred, each minute longer that he took to return was another chance for Mathew to wake, he was both loathe to be away from his brother's side, and at the same time, once parted, he hesitated to return, hesitated because he didn't want to return only to find Matt's condition had not improved.

The taller man slowed his pace beside his love. Violet eyes glanced to the side, and seeing the furrowed, worried brow, the exhaustion clear in his sweetheart's expression, Ivan dropped Alfred's hand and instead, the bolshevik pulled the American agent in close, wrapping one arm around his waist.

Alfred relaxed into Ivan's arm, snaking his own around the Russian's broad back. The agent sighed as they neared the door, allowing the worries for his brother to escape his heart in one miserable breath.

The Russian stopped and turned his American love toward him. Violet eyes poured into warm blue, and the bolshevik soldier thought back to the wars...the constant wars he'd been fighting.

"Alfred," Ivan began picking his words carefully, so as not to add to his flyboy's worry, "You spent the war in the skies, and do not misunderstand, I know that you saw many comrades fall, and you shot many enemies down, but," The Russian linked his hands together at the small of the American's back as he continued, "You did not see the war as I did; on the ground."

Alfred set his coffee down on a nearby bench, instant indignation flashed across the blonde's face.

Ivan was quick to continue. "I only mean, you have not seen men who fall into a sleep like this before. I have."

The American's expression softened, and twisting his fingers in the weave of his taller lover's sweater, as he turned fully, both hands meeting behind the Russian's back, Alfred mirrored Ivan's posture. "How...how did it turn out?" The agent asked, looking up into his bolshevik beau's deep violet eyes.

As the Russian answered seriously and with care, the American steeled his heart with a soldier's strength and held his love as tightly as he held his jaw, commanding his eyes to stay dry.

"Many never woke, moi Derogoy," Ivan took hold of Alfred's chin to bring the American's gaze back to his, as blue eyes had clouded and turned away instantly. "Da, many never did. I will not lie to you Alfred." Intently, the captain held the pilot's attention. "But those who did recover, they had friends, comrades who spoke to them. The nurses said it was this that brought the men back."

It took only a moment for the meaning of his sweetheart's words to filter through Alfred's sleep deprived mind. As what Ivan had said crystalized clear, the agent's eyes flashed wide with his usual energetic optimism. This light in beloved blue eyes quickly returned the smile to Ivan's face as Alfred perked up, grinning radiantly. Grinning as he hadn't since his brother had been shot.

"Right! That makes perfect sense!" The agent bounced as Ivan realized just how much he had missed his American man's ridiculous smile. Feeling his heart lighter regardless of the weight of what missing his trial meant, the Russian happily allowed his American love to pull him the rest of the way to the room.

Suddenly, Alfred stopped.

His hand on the door, ready to push it open, he turned and motioned for Ivan to listen as well. One finger to his lips, Alfred tilted his ear to the door with a quizzical expression. The American's eyes widened further as he listened, tightening his grip on the broad Russian's hand.

From the other side of the door, words could be heard in one language, followed by another as the German knelt at his Canadian lover's bedside.

Gilbert brushed pale hair back out of his face and laid a hand on top of his Mathew's chest. Feeling the steady heartbeat and the constant rise and fall of his breath, was a balm to the albino's despondent soul.

Crimson eyes soaked in the picture of his beloved scholar, tried to imagine him laying asleep without the bandage wrapped around his forehead.

Gilbert began in his native tongue, "Mathew, meine Liebe, ich schvöre, ich verde Sie daran erinnern, vie man spricht." Moving his hand down from the young professor's chest to twine his fingers between his dear Canadian's, the pale man shifted his knees on the cold tile floor. He repeated in English, Mathew's first language. "My love, I swear I vill remind you how to speak."

Continuing in this fashion, the German bartender went on, unaware that his love's brother was trying his heroic best to fight back the tears as he listened at the door.

"Ich veiß nicht, Französisch, aber mein Liebling, ich veiß, ein Franzose. Ich verde ihn hierher zu bringen, um mit Ihnen zu sprechen, so können Sie all die schönen Vorte erinnern." Gilbert cleared his throat and translated in English. "I don't know French, but my darling, I know a frenchman. I'll bring him here to talk to you, so you can remember all the awesome, beautiful vords."

His voice dropping softer to cover the lump in his throat, the passionate, confident man rested his elbows on the bedside as if it were a pew in a cathedral.

"Ich verde zu dir sprechen jeden Tag und bei Nacht in deutscher und englischer Sprache, ich habe zu beten, dass irgendvo da du mich hören kannst ... und venn du, wach Kuschelbär, ich verde hier sein, und ich verde Ihnen helfen umlernen alles."

He sighed, closing crimson eyes, and translated for his unconscious man. "I'll speak to you each day and by night in German and in English, I have to pray that somewhere you can hear me...and when you wake," Cracking a crooked smile, Gil thought back to the Christmas-eve that now seemed a distant memory, and his beautiful scholar's face when he'd first called him his Kuschelbär. Eyes closed, the smile still lighting the pale German's face, he continued the translation, "cuddlebear, I'll be here, and I'll help you relearn everything."

* * *

Ivan took Alfred's hand and led him from the door. "We should give them more time, da?"

The American leaned into the Russian's arm and nodded, "Yeah, good idea."

Moving slowly down the hall, the two men were thankful for the mostly empty corridor. The doors to the few occupied rooms were closed, the patients behind them, asleep. As they neared the end of the hall, and the large curtained window that looked down on the street below, Alfred's attention was caught by the loud chiming of a clock. Blue eyes widened and he turned fast toward his Russian lover.

It was 1921.

The blond took hold of his violet eyed man's head, both hands running through pale silvery hair, the agent planted a wet kiss to his soviet lover's surprised half parted mouth. As the clock continued to chime midnight, Alfred deepened the kiss and was heartened to feel Ivan returning his passion equally.

His hands on each side of the American's hips, the Russian lifted his lover off the floor as their tongues danced together, lips pressed softly, the taste of the coffee he'd just drank fresh on the Agent's breath.

It had been some time since they had been able to show affection, being in the hospital all day and night, surrounded by others or else simply exhausted. As he felt the lightness of being lifted from the ground and embraced in Ivan's arms, Alfred breathed in the scent of his fellow soldier, at once musky and clean, like that of a pine forest after the rain.

If it weren't for the steady chiming of the clock as it counted to twelve, time would have stood still, the only measure, the beating of each man's heart. But the clock did continue to chime its way to the New Year, and with the last sounding of the hour, the American hesitantly pulled himself from his Bolshevik love. Breaking the kiss, he set his feet back to the floor.

Blue eyes gazing up over the rims of his glasses; Alfred realized just how little he'd stopped to simply look into Ivan's strikingly violet eyes over the last week. He realized just how much he had needed to.

The slightly taller man moved his hands from the American's hips to rest in Alfred's back pockets as the agent continued to play with the Russian's pale hair.

Alfred's smile broad and radiant once more, Ivan saw the pilot again, grinning at the captain on horseback. But this time the pilot turned agent spoke, bringing the Russian from his reverie.

"Happy New Year, Vanya."

* * *

_**Thus ends chapter 17 and 1920.**_

_And now, a long and informative A/N._

**_New Words:_**

_Merde: Shit (Fr)_

_*In the second and third German phrases, where a 'v' appears, there was a 'w' I changed it to be phonetically easier to read the way the 'w' is pronounced. Of course the s at the beginning of words is pronounced as a z and the v is pronounced as an f, but I leave that to you dear readers.*_

_Hurensohn: Son of a bitch_

_Venn es eine veitere Beleidigung für meine Nationalität… : _If there is a further insult to my nationality…

_Sobald vir brauchen ihn nicht lebendig, meine Liebe.: _As soon as we do not need him alive, my love.

_Du machen meinen Job viel einfacher: _You make my job much easier

_**In Chapter 18~**_

_When next we pick up with our boys, we'll see how the young professor is doing, the crooner will meet the agent and Bolshevik captain. We'll see what's on the forgotten piece of paper in the capo's pocket as the mobsters try to keep the lid on their secret while dealing with the rival families, and trying to keep the feds at bay. With so much on their plate, how will the boss and his soldier choose which must be their top priority? Do they dare turn their backs on either threat? What will be the Belarussian's next move? And just how long can the capitalist's socialist lover ignore the long arm of his still young, tumultuous, Soviet Union? Will he ever be able to return to his beloved, war wounded mother Russia?_

_**Oh, and a warning: **_

_If you recall the summary of this story:_

_1920 Chicago. The Mafioso & devoted Capo v. the U.S Agent, the Bolshevik soldier, & a complex world of enemies & family. __The only thing certain in a world of violence & crime: not everyone will come out alive._

_Please don't hate me. It's a dangerous business our boys are a part of. Both for criminals and those whose job it is to bring them in. (of course I'll answer anything you ask me, if you must ask...)_

_**Also:**_

_There will be all these things at the end of this fic: _

_epilogue,_

_preview into the sequel, _

_blooper reel (ridiculous mistypes)_

_cut scenes (stuff that didn't make the cut from my original brainstorming as well as stuff GreenEyes jokingly suggested I add in and things side characters get up to that I just couldn't find a way to add in)_

_a soundtrack (all the music I listen to as I write that I've found corresponds well to characters and scenes)_

_And so you have an idea of how things are going, we've got about 4 to 5 chapters left in It's Just Business #1. _

_(Oh, and for those of you sweet readers who also read my other fics, I'm updating Potato Gnocchi next (hopefully by my one month deadline of Oct 18__th__) then Sleeping Beauty won out (in private messages) for the next adaptation for "In the Shadows of the Black Forest", but Snow White will be next. Also, in case any of my RusAme fans found their way here from "Ivan Kupala Day", I'm trying to get the sequel started by Halloween.) _

_Now, this moment, I'm off to do some art…and play around on tumblr, I won't lie. XD_

_I hope you all enjoyed the new chapter, and that it made up for the ridiculous wait. (: _

_Danke, Grazie, Spasiba, & Merci for reading and reviewing, my lovelies! Your words mean the world to me~ _


	18. Chapter 18 first half

_Happy Holidays everyone! I'm really sorry for the wait on this update! Well – this **half update. **I've been so busy …so I just feel awful that this chapter has taken so long, so **I cut it in half in order to post it today. The bottom half of this chapter, I'll finish in the next few days and post as chapter 19.**_

_Thank you all for being so patient! That you all love my little mafia story is amazing and makes my heart happy. I really hope you like this half a chapter. I promise ch 20 will be nice and long like usual. – and just cause I haven't said this in a while, I don't own hetalia and I don't endorse drug use. It will pop up from time to time, as it does in this chapter._

_-Sincerest apologies to all my readers who follow me on tumblr – as I had promised that I would have had this update up hours ago, but due to a bit of a cold, I totally zoned out and fell asleep! And it's less than the 10,000 words I estimated, but really, I felt this was the best half way point. _

_Without further ado: ½ of chapter 18_

* * *

**Early on the morning of January 3rd, 1921**

The weak rays of sun broke across the city below, alighting in drops of pink light upon the snow, the fresh virginal white and the old soot darkened slush alike.

The petite Mafioso squinted into the sun as it broke into the peaceful darkness of his bedroom. Feliciano turned from the window, shielding his eyes from the rosy rays of the new day. The don's caramel eyes, now opened fully, found relief from the sun as he curled beside his sleeping lover, beneath the many blankets that held back the January cold.

Brushing the hair from his face, the slight boss smiled as he looked over his strong German man. He loved the way all sign of the responsibilities of the day fell away from the hard working capo's expression as he slept.

The broad man shifted slightly in his sleep, unaware of the Italian's gaze.

Feliciano scooted in closer, nudging Ludwig's muscular arm until, in his slumber, the larger man moved to wrap his petite love in an embrace, the smallest of smiles flitting across the blonde's face as he did so.

The Mafioso sighed, and content in his capo's arm, the don let his eyes fall closed again. As the sun continued its ascent across the sky, the morning light flickered in dappled patterns across the bed. The weak pink drops of sun fell across the two men who slept, far from the worries the coming day would bring, and the duties Feliciano's organization would demand.

Always demanding they fit the part imposed by the families. Imposed by necessity and society. Were he to keep his position, and thereby his life, the petite mob boss had to reign in his feelings, his constant desire to show affection to his German love. All this had to stay hidden, had to wait for the precious moments such as this one, this cold morning, when they could lay together. Away from the myriad of enemies...both the outright adversaries of the law and rival families, as well as those in his own family, who, were they to know who held his heart, would see them both disappeared.

The usually optimistic young mafioso held tight to the contentment he felt now, with his head against his beloved capo's strong, broad chest. Feliciano closed his eyes and listened to the rhythm of Ludwig's heart, as the organ beat steadily beneath his ear. The slender Don pressed himself as close as possible to his capo, determined for the moment to not be overwhelmed by his worries; worries that came now in nightmares the past few days since his brother's botched job against Agent Jones.

But even the calming beat of his lover's heart, even the warmth and security of being enveloped in Ludwig's arm could not keep the worries from the babyfaced mobster's mind.

Worries of what to do to keep Romano out of jail...how to silence the witnesses his brother had left alive...worries of the Belorussian Arlovskaya, and how she had found their secret, what was her next move, and how could he stay a step ahead of her... Worries compounded by not only rivals among the four families and their silent threats, but also the danger posed by Ludwig's brother...how could he keep his promise that no hit would be set on the man who'd thrown in his lot with the agent? How could he protect Gilbert when he had to make sure all the men around him would not live to testify?

Stomach turning in anxiety, Feliciano took a deep breathe. He reminded himself of his name. Vargas. Don Vargas. He'd been groomed for this position his whole life, sure, his grandfather had not thought he would need to be here so early in life, but all the same, he'd been raised with the mafia in his blood.

The part of Don Vargas was one he played expertly, like a cool, deadly armor; his outward persona would be what saved the man he was inside. The armor that was the most respected and feared man in not only Chicago, but across America and Italy.

Feliciano took a deep breath and turned to brush his lips across the place his German love's neck met the muscular chest. Lingering on his capo's collar bone, the petite mafioso was filled with a sense of relief. He had Ludwig, and he knew his stoic lover would never leave him.

His mind ran over all the times he'd been so close to death and his devoted capo had saved him, so many scrapes had been narrowly avoided due to the man who slept beside him now.

Feliciano looked over the blonde in his slumber; Ludwig's brow furrowed slightly as the sun moved across his face.

Caramel eyes moved from gazing at his capo's face to the piece of paper, unfolded laying on the bedside table. Further proof of the German's devotion. Forgotten by Ludwig, and found by Feliciano as the petite boss had slipped his hands into his soldier's coat.

The Italian smiled softly as he lay his head back to his lover's chest. The paper taken from the BOI had been a document detailing each of Ludwig's responses when he had been brought in fro questioning in the past. The list had been short as the serious capo had been near silent on every attempt at information by the Feds. It was full of comments of no comment, refusals to speak without a lawyer, and blatant lies of "I do not know what you're talking about. Feliciano Vargas is a legitimate businessman."

Feliciano's eyes closed again, as sleep encroached upon him. Comfortably, the worries were silenced in the mafioso's mind. He would rely on all his Grandpa had taught him. His name and reputation would surely continue to be of use, and of course, as long as Ludwig was by his side, he couldn't lose.

The Italian burrowed into the German's arm and finally lost himself in the larger man's strong embrace, willing the dawn to take its time, he was in no rush to meet the day, but instead wished for the moment to last as long as possible.

Matching his breathes to the beating of his Ludwig's heart, Feliciano drifted finally back to sleep.

* * *

As the mobsters slept at the top of the city, in Feliciano's penthouse apartment, the sun also broke through the sterile stillness of the hospital downtown. The building was just waking to greet the day as nurses walked the halls, checking their patients and administering medication.

Only one man was awake to greet the dawn's light as it danced through the window, casting it's warmth upon the white floor tiles, bouncing from the single mirror hanging on the wall to illuminate the room in the rosy light only seen at the dawn's first approach.

Ivan sat in one of the three simple hospital visiting chairs, as beside him, Alfred leaned across, resting his head onto the Russian's broad shoulder. Violet eyes glowed with the light illuminating the room as he looked to his sleeping lover's face. One could easily have forgotten how the American agent had complained about the chairs the night before, the way the blonde was sprawled, legs hooked over one side of the chair, while Alfred's right arm found a place across the other side, as his head rested on the taller man's shoulder, their seats scooted close together.

The federal agent had dropped into a sudden, heavy sleep as soon as he had flopped into the chair late the previous night. Ivan brushed one golden lock from his sleeping American's face as he recalled how Alfred had paced the night before, how his love had been stressed by his lack of ability to go after the Italians himself and seek vengeance for his brother's condition.

The violet eyed man knew the restless fear his love felt, as he felt it himself, weighing heavy in his bones, and churning in his stomach. He'd missed the trial to clear his name. He'd missed it by 5 days now, and knowing there would be operatives sent for him, anxiety followed with each step. Each moment the strike didn't happen, Ivan wondered when it would, and who would be targeted? Would the cheka come for him alone? Would they come for Alfred, as he was now certain they knew of his forbidden relationship with the American agent. And what of his sisters? Katyusha was vulnerable in her position, so easy to find….and Natalya, though he had disowned her, still in his heart, Ivan worried for his unstable little sister. Had she truly done as it appeared and returned to Europe? Where had she gone? To Paris to be with the other of her kind, who had fled after the revolution, or was she laying low with relatives in Belarus?

Worries especially for his love, and for his older sister weighed like lead upon his heart, to know the danger that surely lurked just out of sight was one he had brought into their already complicated and fragile lives. Already he'd nearly lost the brave, determined man sleeping on his shoulder. Ivan knew his American man's occupation was a dangerous one, but he swore to himself, he wouldn't allow Alfred to be hurt again. Not because of him; not while he still drew breath and could wield a weapon. Violet eyes glanced once to the improvised water pipe that had served him well thus far, now leaning against the wall in the corner of the room.

His vision now moving around the room, Ivan thought over the decisions he'd made in the last month since boarding the train and leaving his homeland. What had he been thinking? Had he truly been that selfish, to put his desire ahead of what was logical and safe?

Grateful for Alfred's deep sleep, Ivan leaned his head back against the wall. Guilt twisted, serpentine in his gut, in contrast to the fire that burned so strongly in his heart. Had it been worth putting them both in such assured danger? If he was doomed for loving who he loved, should he not have at least accepted his fate alone...gone home when the letter had been delivered; when he'd seen the quiet, deadly threat of the figure in the street.

Never doubting the ideals of the revolution, the bolshevik with an aristocrat's upbringing began to wonder about the direction in which his beloved but war weary nation was headed. Would he ever be able to return? Ivan sighed deeply, as his soul whispered to his heart. Whispered that he'd never be able to show Alfred the beauty of his home in peace time, and just as in Chicago, he'd never be able to walk freely, hand in hand with the man he loved.

Suddenly the conflicted soldier's thoughts were brought swiftly back to the present.

The sleeping American's arm had shifted and slid from the chair's support, and with it, Alfred had fallen from Ivan's shoulder.

Acting fast, the captain caught the former pilot before he could topple from the chair entirely. Blue eyes blinked up into violet. Woken from his sleep so abruptly, the agent mumbled incoherently as he made himself comfortable again. Now scooting the chair to the side, Alfred lay his head in his love's lap. Blinking in the sunlight trickling into the room, the American managed a sleepy grin at the Russian, as Ivan combed through his love's hair, the color of his most beloved flower.

"Luv ya, Vanya." Alfred murmured as he once again gave into sleep.

The Russian's conflicted thoughts fell into place as violet eyes watched those of soft blue close again. He recalled the way those beloved blue eyes had filled with tears when he'd said he intended to return home to face his trial, intent to assert he was no traitor. Ivan remembered impassioned pleas that he'd only walk into a trap, and the relief in Alfred's eyes when he'd promised to stay.

"I love you too, Al." He spoke it in English before repeating in a whisper, in his native tongue. "Ya tozhe lyublyu tebya"

Love, maddening love. This was what he'd risked all to gain, and even if it was only for a short time, for love he was willing to die.

His eyes echoing the resolve of his heart, Ivan looked to the other men in the room, each of them walked a dangerous line.

The unexpected friend he'd found in the pale German now, as always, seated beside the wounded scholar. Gilbert's white hair was bright in the sun's rays as he lay asleep, bent at the waist over the bed, his folded arms supporting his head which lay inches from Mathew's arm.

Sleeping like the pale man himself, Gil's pet chick slumbered, perched on the Canadian's chest, head beneath one wing.

Alfred's twin, lay still unconscious. The bandage round his head was a clear reminder that the man who'd fired the shot continued to evade the law, no doubt aided by his younger brother.

At Matt's feet lay the stuffed bear the studious yet sentimental man had kept since childhood, brought from the guestroom of his brother's apartment to lay here, seemingly in waiting for it's owner to wake.

Yes, the future was unsure for all of them. Ivan returned his attention to the man now snoring softly in his lap. Doom may seem inevitable, but he'd not go without a fight, and if anyone thought they could control him by harming Alfred, they had a surprise coming. Not only would they find themselves facing the barrel of the federal agent's pistol, and his well aimed pipe, but the unrelenting wrath of a man with very little left to lose.

Absently Ivan continued to comb through his sleeping man's hair. He did worry about Katyusha, surely he could warn her to be on her guard...and surely, Natalya had heeded his warning and left the country. For all she had done to his love, he somehow couldn't truly forget the childhood they'd shared, but never did he want to see his younger sister again, so unnatural was her affection, so ruthless her anger.

* * *

But Natalya hadn't heeded her brother's warning. She hadn't taken the chance he gave her to leave town, and instead of in Paris or Minsk, she stood on the top floor of the Gold Star, in the room which had become her office.

As the sun's weak pink light lit the snow outside and Katyusha slept below, the younger sister stood beside the phone she'd had installed in the room at the end of the hall. One finger twirling platinum blonde locks, she spoke sweetly to the man on the other end, her voice dripping like sugared poison into the receiver.

"Giovanni, Giovanni...I can call you Giovanni, da?" She toyed with the man on the other end of the line expertly. She'd have the Italians tearing themselves apart in no time. Smiling with a sweetness that didn't reach her eyes, she continued. "Do not worry about it, with the information I have to tell you, there will be a new don in Chicago soon." At the other man's skepticism, she whispered into the phone, allowing her words to breathe a life of their own into the other's thoughts.

"Don Giovanni..."

Nearly giddy with the way her plan was forming so well, she paused, noticing her prey falling into the trap she was setting, as he warmed to the sound of his name with his younger boss's title.

From the other end, she could tell the Italian was intrigued as he responded. "...This information you speak of, nothing comes without a price. What do you want, and how do I know I can trust you?"

Natalya sighed softly, in part to keep herself from laughing aloud. "Ah, I am afraid you do not know you can trust me, that is a gamble you will have to take" Slate blue eyes stared straight ahead as she continued, the half truth falling from her lips with ease. "But what I want is simply what you want, Giovanni. I want Feliciano Vargas gone. There is no price I ask but that satisfaction."

For a time all was silent.

When the man on the other end of the phone finally responded, Natalya knew she had him hooked. Nothing would stop her now, and soon, soon, she'd show Ivan she was serious. resigned to the fact that she couldn't have his attentions, she was determined to see that no one did.

_If she couldn't..._

_Knowing her dear Vanya truly loved Agent Jones, loved him..._

_It made her sick._

Natalya's steely eyes glinted as if ice. If she was unable to win her brother's affections from the American then all of Chicago would burn; from Little Italy to the Bureau's office, and only she would be victorious.

"Miss Arlovskaya?" Vargas' rival interrupted her thoughts. "I said we've got a deal, see? Now how about that information?"

"Ah, da, da.." The Belarussian's icy glare intensified as her smile broadened.

Wrapped now in the cord from the phone, Natalya leaned against the wall. Her voice breathy with the intoxication of victory so close within her grasp, she went on.

Her smile grew, wolf-like, with each word she whispered into the telephone.

As the don slept in his capo's arms uptown, the secret they had worked so hard to conceal was now dropping into the hands of their closest and most dangerous enemies, with each of Natalya's whispered, honeyed words.

After a long pause, the Belarussian untwisted herself from the telephone's cord, as her temporary accomplice had only one reply to the news of his boss's relationship with the German capo.

"I can't move against Don Vargas without proof."

"Of course," Natalya replied, her blood nearly singing with the taste of success. "Of course...and you will have it. Meet me tonight..9 in the evening. The Gold Star. I trust you know the location."

As her pawn agreed to the meeting and she turned to replace the receiver on the hook, Natalya giggled in girlish mirth. With pure joy at her plan falling in to place, the platinum haired killer strode toward the window. The sun was breaking on the horizon, light spilling on the city at dawn. Her city. Her dawn.

Sure, she didn't have proof yet...but she would by nightfall. She had learned her lesson with the last private eye. This time she had used someone she could truly intimidate, someone who wouldn't dare fail her...again.

* * *

His ear pressed to the door, Arthur's emerald eyes widened as his mouth shut tight in a thin line. He thought quickly as the sound of the receiver being hung back up was followed by light laughter; Natalya's plan clearly going well.

The Brit's heart stilled as he listened to the one sided conversation. What would he do? Three possibilities vied for his choosing... either he could show his supposed loyalty by doing what he was there to do, and taking this information to Vargas, or he could call the Agency and report Natalya's continued presence in the States, or still yet, he could do nothing and wait to see what happened...

Stepping silently away from the door and quickly down the hall, Arthur struck a match along the wall and lighting up, took a long drag of the calming herb. If he did nothing, Vargas and his German beau would surely be killed, but where would that leave him and the lucrative deal he'd made for territory in Little Italy?

The dealer continued to ponder his choices as he crept lightly down the stairs. If he went to the feds, the outcome would be much the same, with the addition of Natalya's deportation. The Italians would have a ready replacement in the form of the man the Belarussian had agreed to meet, this Giovanni, and what of Katyusha? Lying to the boys in blue was an offense guaranteeing jail time.

No, what Arthur realized he needed was for the mafia and Arlovskaya to destroy eachother...he had to bring their quarrel from that of closed door intrigue to a full blown war...he would play along a little more and be the good little spy Vargas expected.

By the time the former doctor reached this conclusion he was already down the stairs, past the front desk to the bedroom beyond it. Bent over Katyusha's bedside table in the stark light of dawn, he put pen to paper and began to leave a note for his sleeping Ukrainian beauty.

Once again the stab of guilt was cold in his heart. What would Kat think of his dealings with the mafia, of the very reason he had first come to the Gold Star...

Green eyes glanced to the sleeping madame as she lay in bed. He would simply have to make sure she never found out.

After leaving the note explaining he had business to attend to, and would see her in the evening, the green eyed man turned. Picking up his old medical bag from the floor, the doctor looked back once, his heart heavy; his conscience unsure.

Slipping out of the building by the back door and taking the well-known alleyways home, the Englishman reconciled his feelings as well he could. It was all for the best, wasn't it? Yes, that barmy Natalya terrified her sister didn't she?...and once she and the Italians had torn eachother apart, he and Kat's businesses would only see profits and security before the Italians could regain any strength.

Yes. It was all for the best.

Flicking the ash from his marijuana cigarette, the doctor's steps increased in speed, echoing in the empty alley. The sun glinted in bits of gold now as the city woke. Arthur stamped down tight on his guilt. Instead he turned his thoughts to how he could turn Natalya's move to his advantage while keeping up appearances with Vargas.

Shadowy as his thoughts, the British dealer disappeared down a side street and made his way quickly toward the purple door that marked his den of vice.

* * *

As Feliciano had lain beside his German lover at the breaking of dawn, he had been able to push his worries aside, but by noon those same worries had become unavoidable. He had decisions to make, and people to have taken out of his way.

Having just come from a morning meeting with his older brother Romano, friend Kiku, and the Japanese mobster's yakuza brothers, the baby faced mafioso and his ruthless capo now sat in the petite Italian's favorite restaurant; the very place his money had paid to rebuild after the bullet filled interruption by the Belarussian last month.

Caramel eyes glanced upward toward those of beloved blue as from beneath dark lashes the slender brunette communicated silently with the taller blonde. Confident Ludwig had understood his secret message; the don slipped his hand from beneath his chin where it had rested to lay across the table nonchalantly.

In the dark of the rounded corner booth, their backs to the wall, Ludwig scanned the room and dropped his own hand to the table top as well.

Fingers looped together, hidden behind the centerpiece, the petite mafioso smiled to his devoted soldier before his smile fell, the concerns of his occupation remembered.

"Veh..." The boss sighed, feeling the warmth of his love's fingers intertwined with his own. "After Kiku delivers our message to Jones and that Russian tonight we can see about getting Romano out of the country...

Keeping their hands together, but slipping them beneath the table, Ludwig nodded to the waiter who stood, holding bread and salad at the counter across the room, as the young man had been hesitant to interrupt the mobsters' conversation.

The need for all to go well was a visual and obvious weight upon his love's petite shoulders; Ludwig could see clearly the strain on his otherwise easy going man. The serious German never wanted to see stress in his beloved Italian's face, preferring to shoulder as much as he could himself. Therefore, though it was in contrast to the voice of reason yelling in his mind, reminding him of the danger, the capo continued to hold the mafioso's hand in the shadows beneath the table. Hidden fingers intertwined as were their hearts, in the shadows, out of sight, unable to show their love as though it were something shameful.

Ludwig spared a glance toward Feliciano as the slender man smiled to the waiter, slipping the man an early tip to ensure discretion should he overhear anything.

Imperceptibly, the smallest of smiles flitted across the blonde's face. He longed to be able to rest their hands on the table top; he longed to be able to lean across to the petite man who smiled so radiantly, whose eyes lit like warmest gold, he longed to be able to show his love in a kiss as the other couples scattered at tables across the dining room were so free to do.

But this was impossible and Ludwig couldn't imagine it ever change. The smile was gone almost as fast as it had appeared. They would never be like other couples...he could never take Feliciano out for a night, not the least because he happened to be the Don of the family's Chicago operation and the grandson of the notorious Rome Vargas...a position which allowed no room for such deviant behaviour as being in love with his capo...

No, he couldn't show his affection in these ways; instead he would simply continue to show Feliciano how much he had truly changed his life through working harder, protecting him from any enemies, and being the one person his sweet Italian could trust among the multitude that claimed loyalty but always had one eye on their own interests.

Tightening his hold subconsciously, Ludwig swore he'd keep the vow he'd made on Christmas, to stay by Feliciano's side, to protect his Italian love with his life if necessary.

But certainly, at this moment Feliciano needed something simpler; he needed someone to tell him it would all be alright. Being a realist, this was something Ludwig wouldn't normally do, as he knew full well it was more likely to get worse than better... no matter what his heart wanted. However, he would do his best to assuage the worries plaguing his beloved Italian. The nightmares Feliciano had experienced lately had not gone unnoticed by the man who slept beside him nearly every night.

The tall blonde waited to speak until the server had opened the bottle of perfectly aged wine and walked a safe distance away, far from earshot. Pouring a glass for Feliciano who had already brightened at the sight of the antipasto, the German spoke seriously, pushing his own concerns out of the way.

"I have faith in Kiku's ability Feli, but do not vorry, if anything goes wrong," the German's clear blue eyes glanced down at the flash of gold at the Italian's wrist as Feliciano raised his glass, "I svear I vill handle it myself."

"Veh~ no, Ludwig!" Feliciano set his wine down hard without taking a sip. He leaned across the table as his voice dropped to a whisper, "Your brother! Gilbert would never forgive you and I don't want to cause more trouble between you, you were so close when we met, and all because of me-"

The capo cut across his love's self blaming words. "Nein. Feliciano, Do not blame yourself. I told Gilbert to stay avay from the agent's brother, I varned him, und he did not listen." Of course, Ludwig knew he wouldn't have listened either, as he was aware the ever present danger of loving his boss was, if anything, more deadly than his brother's love for Williams. "I promise you," The broad shouldered German leaned in toward the petite Italian, "I vill end this one vay or another Feliciano. Jones' luck vill run out."

"Ludwig, veh~ you always work so hard for me." Feliciano's shoulders relaxed, though he hoped his hard working lover wouldn't have to take out the witnesses to Romano's botched hit. "Hopefully this time you don't have to,-" Feliciano checked himself just barely from adding 'amore mio'.

Ludwig caught the silence, and lifted his serious expression into a slight smile for his Italian love. The German was thankful for the shadow as he ran a thumb over his beloved Italian's hand beneath the table.

Feliciano was so rarely this worried, but so rarely had so much gone wrong. Witnesses needed silencing, and as one of those witnesses was a federal agent, it was bad enough without the added pressure of that verdammt Arlovskaya, and how she had found out about them...as well as the problems of the families, the constant silent battle to keep respect and through it, control.

At the least, Arlovskaya's luck would be running out soon as well, as Feliciano had called Roderich and Elizaveta to meet them for lunch, and would be asking the Hungarian assassin to pay her Belarussian enemy a visit. Ludwig was sure Elizaveta wouldn't fail in her task and he was quick to remind Feliciano of their Hungarian friend's professionalism.

"I know ve can trust Elizaveta, she vants to repay that vhich vas done to her."

His words were greeted with a smile as the boss's eyes lit up at his capo's assurance.

Ludwig's heart stopped for a beat, his face coloring vibrantly rosy. Even now, when he looked into those warm caramel eyes, the capo couldn't help himself from seeing that same sweet civilian he'd met on the battlefield at Caporetto. He wanted nothing more than to hold Feliciano close and keep him from any harm...of course that was an impossible dream, as his sweet civilian had turned out to belong to the most dangerous of family businesses.

Feliciano looked up suddenly and turned toward the door, breaking Ludwig from his reverie. Calling out across the room, the mafioso smiled wide "LIzzie!"

The door chime rang out as the couple entered, and reluctantly letting go of his capo's hand, the don stood to greet his old friends.

Scooting closer to eachother in the rounded booth, the mobsters made room for their best assassins as Roderich sat beside Ludwig and Elizaveta hugged Feliciano close before sitting down in the booth at his side.

Having called in their full order before arriving, Ludiwg nodded again to the server who hurried to bring the dishes to the table as the talk turned quickly from pleasantries to business.

Promising to be Kiku's getaway driver, Roderich nodded straight faced as he took a sip of wine; his wife across from him agreeing instantly to the assignment her close friend and boss asked of her. "Feliciano, of course! I would have been upset had you asked anyone else!"

As soon as jobs had been discussed, the conversation between the two couples shifted back into friendly chatter, mostly between Feliciano and Elizaveta.

Wine and beer flowed as the four enjoyed lunch, feeling more confident that all would go according to plan, Feliciano subconsciously leaned into Ludwig more and more often. Warm beneath the table, their thighs came into contact again and again until seated so close that they no longer parted from eachother. Stealing swift glances upwards to meet his love's anxious blush, the Italian took advantage of the shade beneath the table, and lay his hand atop his capo's thigh.

The assassins had just begun to inquire about dessert when they were interrupted.

A slight man, dark rings beneath his eyes, and a heavy cockney accent appeared beside the table.

"'Scuze me gents," He said, before tilting his head toward Elizaveta, "'lady. 've got a message comes from Dr. Kirkland, 'know what I mean, yeah?"

Four pairs of eyes stared. Not a word was spoken as the petite boss nodded once and slid his hand from his lover's leg to take the offered envelope.

The man slipped him the sealed message, then turning bid them goodbye. "Right, that sorted, I'll not be seein' ya, cheers."

With the same speed that he'd appeared, the dealer's messenger was gone.

Caramel eyes turned toward Blue for a moment before tearing open the paper to read the words written in thinly veiled code. A code, both understood all too clearly.

_Our slavic friend will be meeting your business associate tonight at 9pm at her sister's place. You know the man I speak of; I believe you paid his nephew a visit not long ago. No doubt he and our friend will have much to discuss. I knew you would be only too happy to join in their conversation. _

_yours,_

_A.K _

The German looked over the Italian's shoulder, and with each word read, his heart tightened, blood rushing through his body, the capo felt a feverish energy as his rage ran hot in contrast with the cold shot of knowing their secret was no longer safe; there wasn't much time left to silence those in the know before the whole organization found out.

As Ludwig beside him, Feliciano felt both the cold terror as well as the racing blood and quickened heart beat that thudded in his ears, telling him to hurry, to find and bump off the Belarussian and that bastard Giovanni, as well as anyone and everyone else who knew.

He'd see to it that there were only four instead of five families if necessary.

Handing the note to Elizaveta, who slid from the seat immediatly upon reading it, the don and his capo stood and slipped from the booth. Feliciano pulled his wallet from his pocket to leave ample payment for the bill, hurriedly put on his coat and hat, and then silently, both men turned and walked from the restaurant. The baby faced mafioso and his soldier appearing far calmer than the hearts clamoring in their chests.

Once outside, Ludwig picked up his steps and rounded the corner toward his audi which sat parked behind the building. Realizing his love was walking a step behind him, the capo stopped and hung back to allow his boss to walk ahead of him. Ahead, where Ludwig could better watch for anyone who might threaten the petite Italian.

Rounding the corner of the restaurant, the boss entered the secluded area where his capo had parked, hidden in the narrow alley between buildings. Walking just ahead of Ludwig, Feliciano strode quickly toward the car. Turning just as his love followed around the corner, the brunette shivered slightly as he looked up to the taller blonde.

The snow began to fall in thick flakes, adding to the drifts of days and days which piled in the corners and coated the pavement with a fine white powder.

Wordlessly, the blue eyed man looked down into his love's eyes. The warm caramel brown standing out brilliantly against the black of Feliciano's coat, the white of his shirt and of the falling snow.

The thoughts came unbidden into the German's mind as time begged to stop.

_Was this it…? Could they hope to stop the deadly information from reaching the other families? Or, was it already too late? Was their only option to take as many of them down with them?_

Ludwig had expected to die fighting, had expected it since the war. Since working for the handsome brunette who held his heart so fully, he'd expected to die in order to protect Feliciano. Instead, it now seemed they went, together, to their doom.

While the thoughts had followed one another in his mind, the capo's hands had left his pockets and found their way to the petite mafioso's shoulders. Feliciano reached up to take hold of his love's arms, never breaking his gaze.

The German pulled the Italian closer, large hands dropping from his man's slender shoulders to encircle his waist. The mobsters had left in haste, and neither had buttoned his coat. Ludwig reached both arms under his lover's double breasted jacket to pull the smaller man as close as possible. Standing on his toes, Feliciano reached both arms up and around his broad man's neck. Finally breaking eye contact, Feliciano's lids closed slowly as Ludwig brought their lips together.

Chest to chest, each man felt the other's heartbeat as it raced beneath their ribs, each rhythm equal in its speed. The two men kissed passionately, urgently; each savoring the feel, the taste, of the other.

As their hearts raced together, so too, both men shared the same thought. The recognition that it was quite possible it would be the last kiss they shared. The last time the taller man would lift his smaller love, the last time Feliciano would clasp his hands at the back of Ludwig's neck, never again to ruffle the perfectly quaffed hair.

As the snow fell thicker and thicker around them, dusting both men's shoulders, gathering in the brim of the mafioso's fedora, the two criminals lost themselves in each other.

Neither was aware of the flashes of light that broke through the snowflakes descending around them, nor the sound of footsteps muffled in the fallen snow, the shadow that would've fallen from around the corner had the sun still shone.

Finally breaking from the kiss, Blue eyes were soft as they gazed down into golden, but soon hardened in resolve. Sliding his hands from his love's slender back to rest at each hip, Ludwig spoke evenly and with a deadly seriousness. "Feli, as long as I breathe I vill be by your side meine Liebe as I have svorn to you. Und I vill never give up."

A smile broke across the Italian's face at his strong man's words of devotion. "I know." Feliciano stepped up on his toes once more and running his fingers through his beloved's blonde hair damp with snow. The Italian sighed. "Veh~ I know, amore mio."

The German's hands flew from his love's hips to bury themselves in mahogany hair, knocking the slanting fedora completely from the other man's head as fingers brushed the beloved curl.

"Gott Verdammt Feliciano... Ich liebe dich…"

Ludwig pressed the smaller man against the car door, and bending, he took his love in another kiss, this one as feverish as the last. Desperate in the tragedy he so keenly felt, the broad shouldered soldier held his boss and lover's lips in a penetrative kiss, his tongue caressing the well loved mouth, memorizing the taste and feel as his sweetheart returned his fervor with passion.

Feliciano sighed as he too reached into his capo's coat; the petite mafioso deepened their second kiss. Both men held onto the moment as long as possible, each wishing the circumstances were different, that they were elsewhere, able to give in to eachother fully, not facing near certain death as by the nature of their conflict, they must face Giovanni and his family alone…

But reality was reality, and after several minutes that could well have been a heavenly eternity, their breath coming in clouds of steam in the cold winter air, the mobsters broke apart reluctantly at last.

The capo removed his scarf and wrapped it close around the smaller man's neck. Feliciano still shivered slightly in the falling snow, as he held his German love close and then gradually loosened his grip as Ludwig knew they had no room for procrastination and to delay the inevitable was useless.

Words of deepest regret fell from the Italian's lips as, one hand trailing along the scarf at his neck, Feliciano reached the other beneath his coat to withdraw his pistol. "Veh~ I am so sorry that I waited so long to tell you how much I love you Ludwig." Caramel eyes clouded with tears as the young don checked that his weapon was fully loaded.

"Nein. Nein, Feli, do not think that vay." Ludwig stoooped to retrieve Feliciano's hat from the ground before reaching to open the passenger side door for his love.

Forcing a smile, the babyfaced mobster nodded and ducked into the seat, dusting the wet flakes of snow from his shoulders.

Eyes of piercing sapphire sought out those of golden caramel again once the German capo had closed the door and taken his place at the wheel.

"I must stop to pick up only one thing before ve go; there is no other gun for this job but the one you gave me, Feli."

Fighting to hold back the tears and the fear pounding in his heart, Feliciano looked to his stoic lover as Ludwig's face betrayed none of the German's worries, but only a fatalistic determination. Taking a deep breath, the Italian focused to clear his mind. Caramel eyes shifting to the cold steel weapon in his hand, Feliciano conjured all his strength, and as his beloved man drove them toward their enemies home, he raised a finger to his chest, to the crucifix beneath his shirt. He swore he'd see his rival dead for overstepping his place; he swore he'd see that Belarussian join him. He swore this silently as he asked forgiveness for his own necessary sin.

* * *

As the mobsters drove away, leaving only tire tracks behind them in the snow, the figure the men had missed stepped shakily from around the corner.

The camera held tight in his trembling grasp, Toris Laurenitis took a deep, rattling breathe. The wound from his last encounter with Vargas' ruthless capo still had not healed fully. Green eyes looked after the car in it's wake, red taillights disappearing in the distance, as the Lithuanian shifted the camera to turn up the collar of his coat against the wind.

He told himself again what he had been telling himself all along, this was revenge for being shot, however in reality he really wanted to leave Chicago, leave the U.S entirely, and never have to deal with this sort of business again.

Footsteps caught up to him; Toris heard Feliks approaching in the snow, his feet crunching softly with each step. A nervous smile grew across the brunettes's face. Feliks had demanded to come along and, as he'd said "Make sure that totally crazy Natalya didn't like, bully him into anything."

The blonde looped his arm in with Toris' and groaned. "Liet, like seriously, lets go. You totally got the photograph right? So, c'mon, you give that to that Belarussian bitch and we get on the next plane, boat, whatever, out of here."

"Yeah..." The Lithuanian turned and walked through the snow.

* * *

_In the following Chapter:  
_

_As Toris walks arm in arm with Feliks to deliver the much desired evidence, Ludwig and Feliciano rush to see to it that it never reaches the hands for which Natalya intends it. _

_The men with the photograph are not the only ones on their way toward the Gold Star, but also the Hungarian assassin with a score to settle. _

_At this time, in the hall outside his brother's hospital room, Alfred and Ivan meet with men from the Bureau as the agent tries to secure asylum for the stranded captain unable to return home. Inside the hospital room, the French crooner from the Roost has brought flowers from the staff of Gil's establishment, and is happy to oblige when asked to speak to the unconscious man in French. _

_As busy as it is inside the hospital, outside is even busier, as the Russian's older sister walks past not only the Cheka assassins watching and waiting to strike, but Kiku and his Yakuza brothers as they enter just behind her._

_Can Gilbert protect his vulnerable man against his brother's friends? What will happen as the the agent, the captain, his sister, and the bartender are surprised by the japanese mobsters? Will Ludwig and Feliciano succeed in their aims, how will the silence their opposition as their secret becomes less and less protected. Or is it as Ludwig fears, too late?_

* * *

_Tune in again, as they say!  
_

_These questions will be answered and the story will continue with Chapter 19 ( 18.2 originally the bottom half of chapter 18) in just a few days as I finish it up. _

_You can be assured there will be violence, and...satisfaction._

_I promise to deliver somewhat heart wrenching and heart warming PruCan, aggressive and protective RusAme, as well as violent, dramatic, bullets a-flying GerIta. _

_I'll do my best anyway ~_~-_

_I hope it was enjoyable even though it was shorter than my usual chapters. _

_Bitte, Por Favore, Pazhaloosta, S'il vous plaît, forgive my tardiness with this update and review, my lovelies?_


	19. Chapter 19

_Hello my darling readers! Thanks for being so patient and wonderful as this update took a very, very long time! Special thanks to all who reviewed and messaged me with encouragement, you guys keep me going, and to MustBe who sent me an excellent rendition of "Speak Softly Love" sung by Simone. In return, and for all you who like to listen to music as you read, I suggest you look up "Between the Bars" by Madeleine Peyroux. Its a favourite of mine to listen to as I write :)_

_I tried to make sure to send out messages to those whom I'd promised an earlier update - if I missed ya I do apologize~ a wee bit under the weather today  
_

_There is a little gift for all you darlings at the end~ its not much, but I hope you enjoy!_

_Since this is a regularly long chapter, I'll put the translations for new words and phrases after each scene. _

_I attempt the Vienese Austrian accent in this chapter. I spent hours listening to WWI era radio clips and reading about it, but if I have any readers from Vienna and ya disagree with my portrayal, I apologize sincerely. I think it's lovely and I tried to capture its unique sound in this chapter. _

_About Ivan's weight and height. It comes up in this chapter and honestly, I just do not imagine the nation that is 1/6 of the Earth's surface at 5'11.6 or less than 200 lbs. 5'11 is certainly tall, and I have no problem with Ludwig being a strapping 5'11, but Russia is Russia. So, I used the hockey player Ilya Bryzgalov (Илья Николаевич Брызгалов ) as a model and added a few inches and pounds. Just thought I'd explain in case anyone wondered why it didn't match up with his profile on hetalia archives._

_Now…_

_Without further ado, Chapter 19. The other half of 18 plus some. In my opinion this chapter sort of winds up and explodes, winds up and explodes again… I hope ya like it._

* * *

_A few hours have passed since Ludwig and Feliciano left on a tip off brought by the British dealer..._

_As the photographs carrying the compromising images of the Don and his capo are being developed in the basement of the Gold Star, Feliciano and Ludwig await their traitorous associate outside his home, where he is rumoured to be returning before leaving to meet with the ambitious Belarussian._

* * *

The snow fell now in light, airy flakes that drifted on the wind. in a soft white frost it coated the parked car and frosted the windows, shielding the men inside. The wind blew strong in gusts that pounded the vehicle, sometimes interrupting the radio that crackled with static and the sound of broken jazz.

Never removing his eyes from the front entrance of their enemy's stately townhouse, Ludwig turned the dial and found a station with a stronger signal. The soldier's hand rested on his gun; the custom made thompson his petite love had given him for Christmas was cool beneath his touch. As the serious blonde continued to watch the driveway, his boss leaned in, trailing fingers across the weapon to rest on his lover's thigh.

As one of Chicago's newest star's throaty voice sang through the stereo, Ludwig's clear blue eyes turned from their enemy's home for only a moment to meet Feliciano's caramel gaze.

_~Lord, Lord, look where the time's done gone,_

_Hey Lord, there's something going all wrong,_

_What's the use of living if you can't have the man you love?~_

Silently the German gave his Italian a hint of a smile, and moving his grip from the weapon in his lap to the hand on his thigh, the capo turned back to his work.

Neither spoke as they stared through the frosted glass, waiting for the marked man to come home. The deep and melancholy voice of the young singer the only sound in the car; her lyrics settling in the mafioso's mind.

_~...the use of living, if you can't have the man you love,_

_You might as well go die, give your soul to the Maker above...~_

His heart heavy yet resolved, Feliciano's eyes followed Ludwig's gaze. The fingers of one hand intertwined with his lover's, while those of the other held the grip of his weapon tight.

* * *

The sun began to dip below the horizon as the mobsters waited for their treacherous associate to return home; as downtown, the large brownstone hospital was filled with activity.

The powerful wind, for which the city was known, blew in gusts against the windows of the building, around the cars parked in the lot below, and around the men standing as shadows across the street.

Three men, foreign and watchful, they split individually as a stately town car pulled up parallel to where they stood. The cheka operatives moved immediately. Each took a different look at the hospital, searching for their quarry, determined to bring him home and send a clear message. They moved forward, each toward a different entrance, fading into the crowd, unnoticed by those entering and leaving the building.

The vehicle that had stirred the Russian assassins into action now pulled around the corner of the hospital. Roderich was silent as his passengers climbed out of the car, and strode purposefully toward the front. The brunette at the wheel tapped the gun hidden beneath his suit jacket as his Japanese associate looked back and nodded his direction.

Once Kiku had turned from the taller brunette and made his way, along with his yakuza brothers toward the hospital's front, Rod turned his attention back to parking where he would have clear view of most of the hospital's area. The Austrian's expression was a picture of tense displeasure. Not content to simply be the driver, he would rather take his vengeance on the man who'd put him away...but of course, for that very reason he was far too recognizable; his face had been in all the papers only a few years ago. No, Roderich knew he couldn't lead this party. He had accepted his relative inaction; in fact the restlessness he felt at his role of get away driver was nothing to the unease he felt at his wife's assignment. Elizabeta had come up with the way she was to get close to the Belarussian herself, and naturally it was ingenious.

Of course, that it was her idea didn't make him any happier about his wife going under cover at the Gold Star. Though she'd seemed quite sure she wouldn't be there long enough to "work", all the same...the once aristocratic Austrian was less than pleased with the idea.

That very moment, as the Russian and Japanese assassins entered the hospital unaware of one another, the Hungarian had disguised herself and now stood in the lobby of the hotel brothel.

She had been all too pleased when she entered the building only to find that the madame was out, instead it was the younger sister now standing mere inches away. Smiling softly, allowing her green eyes to widen in feigned innocence, Elizabeta pulled on one lock of her shorn and dyed black hair. Affecting her husband's aristocratic Viennese accent, she played her part.

"I vaas told zhaat I could find vork here."

This accent which he had worked hard to drop, still warmed her heart. speaking it reminded her of their first meeting and how they had struggled to understand one another. The assassin put this from her mind however, to focus on the work at hand. "Should I return vhen Madaame Braginskaya ist here?"

Silence filled the lobby for a moment. Katyusha's girls had learned to fear her unstable sister and usually cleared out of the lobby when their boss was away. Elizabeta caught the worried eyes of slight blonde looking her way before the girl followed her co-workers up the stairs.

At last Natalya spoke. Moving silvery hair across her shoulder, slate blue eyes pierced into green. Her voice, much softer than her words, the Belarussian stepped closer.

"You are from Austria, I see. I heard that accent on radio...during the war."

"Ja.." The Hungarian continued her ruse, confident in the proximity of her gun, holstered against her thigh, should anything go wrong with her plan. She continued to stress her vowels as she spoke the lighter, and slightly more nasal accent. "It is my hope zhat ve can put aside our differences." Elizabeta leaned in toward her mark, "Var is the business of men, ja?" dropping her gaze to the floor, she continued. "My family lost much durink zhe var. Ve had a place at court, alvays. Ve had land und history..." She looked back up, letting her shoulders fall back, as she met her enemy's steely gaze. "I never thought for a moment I vould be here...doing zhis..."

Elizabeta allowed her sentence to trail off, as she noted with satisfaction, the softening expression upon the murderous woman's face. The mafia's assassin locked her gaze with that of the displaced tsarist aristocrat. "I see zhat as you are here, you must have lost much as vell, ja?"

Again, Natalya appraised the woman standing before her. At last speaking, the Belarussian placed her arm around the disguised Hungarian. "Da, I did." Natalya turned toward the hall, and her sister's office at the end. She spoke, just audibly to herself as she steered the other woman toward the guarded room. "Ya poteryal moĭ brat..." Pushing platinum hair from her face again, Natalya translated for her sister's soon to be employee, "mein bruder."

Emerald eyes blinked, unbelieving that the cold hearted woman who had attacked her, stolen her hostage, and left her and her husband bleeding on their kitchen floor, was...well, human.

"I am sorry to hear zhaat." Suddenly filled with genuine sympathy, she meant each word. However, Elizabeta was a fighter by nature; silently she reminded herself she would not let this development cloud her responsibilities. She reminded herself that his woman wanted her, her husband, and her closest, dearest friend dead. No...Arlovskaya had to die, tonight, before she could ruin Feliciano's life. If she had lost a brother to the war, well, they would be reunited soon.

She simply had to find the evidence the other woman had on her friends, then, the Hungarian assassin promised herself, Natalya Arlovskaya would no longer be around to be a threat.

Now seated across from the shorter platinum haired woman, Elizabeta smiled softly and thanked her for the chance to work in a safe place. Again, she reinforced her image of a helpless, lost immigrant by asking again if was alright that the older sister was not here.

withdrawing a sheet of paper from Katyusha's desk, Steely blue eyes met moss green a second time. Lingering for a moment, Natalya's thoughts appeared distant before she returned, taking up a pen and speaking assurances of her power. "I have full ability to make decisions for Ekaterina when she is out. I will ask you some questions, before we find you a room. You are fortunate that there is space, there are only two rooms available."

Arlovskaya smiled, her grin that of a wolf, as she continued. "Now, I have an appointment to keep this evening and much to do in preperation, so you will not mind getting on with this, da?" Natalya looked to the clock before turning back to the woman across from her, as she asked the first question. "Your name?"

Ready with the lie, Elizabeta answered without hesitation. "Anna Maria"

_{Ya poteryal moĭ brat = I lost my brother.}_

* * *

Roderich waited, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the steering wheel, as across town, his wife smiled toward the woman she intended to kill. The restless Austrian's gaze turned toward the third floor of the hospital; he wondered briefly which window belonged to the agent's brother's room. Don Vargas' Japanese friends should be arriving there soon. Roderich sighed in deep agitation. Focusing on the third floor, he kept his mind on the job, and not on his wife in the whorehouse.

A broken window would be the signal; as soon as he saw that, he'd be at the fire escape, ready to make a fast get away.

Unable to focus fully, the dark haired man switched on the radio. Music; it always helped. Again, the assassin turned his eyes toward the windows, cursing his notoriety, the only reason he wasn't up there ending Jones' career himself.

* * *

While Roderich tried to ignore the pang of worry wriggling wormlike in his heart, Kiku led his men from the elevator onto the third floor. Right away he stopped, and motioned for the others to follow him around a nurse's station and into an empty room. The cautious man had noticed immediately the hall full of agents. At least four walked the length of the corridor, as one stood speaking to Jones and the Russian just outside the room where his brother lay unconscious.

Dressed in identical suits, the government men stood out from the crowd of civilians visiting their relatives. The Japanese mobster had seen Agent Jones himself right away as the blonde looked hopefully toward his taller Russian companion.

Peeking around the corner of his hiding place, quietly confident at the feel of his sword beneath the long coat he wore, the experienced yakuza mobster understood that the most important element of a hit was surprise.

Crucial to their plan, surprise would be impossible if they simply strode into the midst of the bureau's agents. No matter his desire to erase the witnesses of his friend's crime, Kiku knew he would have to wait. Each man would be armed; obviously Jones would have his standard issued pistol, and Romano had mentioned the talent the Russian had with the pipe...and of course there would be trouble with Gilbert...

His concentration visible in the slight crease above his nose, Kiku thought of his friend's brother. He was under strict orders not to kill Gilbert, and he didn't want to... He would simply have to incapacitate the passionate German before he could reach his gun. Lips in a tight line, Kiku looked back to his fellows and motioned for them to wait.

Eyes on the men in the hall, his thoughts went back over the directions his friends had given him. Kiku would be the one to deal with Gilbert. After the others were out of the picture, Ludwig's brother would be taken to Feliciano, and made to see that he had to forget all about the Canadian...

Teeth grinding into his bottom lip, the Japanese assassin's thoughts continued into visions of failure as they did each time he tried to imagine the outcome once Gilbert awoke in the Don's office. Watching the hallway from just out of sight, Kiku hoped for a conclusion that didn't end in the pale German's death, though it seemed unlikely.

Suddenly the bell of the elevator, as well as the opening of the stairwell door, drew his attention from the agents crowding the hall.

* * *

From the elevator doors, stepped the tall Ukrainian madame, a bouquet of daisies in her hands; bashfully she looked toward her brother as he stood beside the American agent. Katyusha strode toward Ivan, not caring that her sister would never forgive her for coming to the hospital. What Natalya didn't know wouldn't hurt her. She lifted the bouquet as, quickening her pace, heels clicking across the tile floor, the statuesque blonde hurried toward her younger brother and the agent her sister had not long ago, kidnapped, drugged, and tried to murder.

Hurrying to stand just out of the way, Katyusha noted Ivan's small smile in her direction. Leaning against the cool brick wall, the madame looked to the clock across the way. It was early in the evening, just past 5 o'clock. Her sister had said she had a meeting at nine, Arthur had called earlier and added that he'd wanted to take her out at eight. Katyusha sighed into the bouquet of daisies, all too happy to have an excuse to see less of her dangerous sister, maybe she'd stay out with her intriguing Englishman... Though perhaps not; it did trouble her that Natalya seemed to have taken over the Gold Star.

Katyusha shifted against the wall. She would have to do something about that. If not for her sake, then at least for her girls. The place had an almost permanent aura of unease; the atmosphere of Natalya's ruthlessness had pervaded the building since she had failed to kill the agent and his brother.

Lost in her thoughts, Katyusha didn't notice the two men who had stepped from the stairway as she left the elevator. Her eyes were only on her brother and Jones, completely unaware as the two men were met by a third, and together, they moved to one of the waiting rooms across the hall. She didn't notice as each looked her way and then toward Ivan.

* * *

Ivan paid no mind to the men who watched him. Their appearance fading into the many sounds of the hospital as doctors and nurses checked on patients, families came and went.

The Captain had much more on his mind. Reluctant and unsure, the Russian reached into the inner pocket of the great coat he still wore with pride, and retrieving his passport, Ivan turned it over to the young man who waited, his hand outstretched, a smile on his face, as he offered asylum.

The violet eyed man smiled again briefly to his sister as she leaned against the wall a few feet away. He looked toward his love momentarily while handing the document to Alfred's coworker. The agents had come at his American man's request. Alfred had explained, now that the government knew of Ivan's presence in the United States, and considering the certain execution that awaited him at home, it was only the clear choice to ask for asylum. Beloved blue eyes had widened as the former pilot pouted and promised that Ivan would love America. He had nearly laughed when Alfred the government man, had said he'd keep looking the other way if Ivan wanted to get a drink with Gilbert now and again.

Of course, he'd live anywhere that he was able to be with Alfred. And of course he'd find his way to a bottle of vodka on occasion, but his discomfort was born from the sense of running away, of hiding. To the man who had seen battle for six years, and had always faced his dangers head on, the idea of asylum, the obvious decision, never the less seemed somehow cowardly. Knowing his heart was far from disloyal to his nation, the soldier felt powerless.

He knew the Russia he'd loved was in danger; that the idea of what she could be was fading fast beneath the hypocrisy and paranoia that had followed the hopeful, yet bloody revolution. Freedom and equality seemed so far from the truth while starvation and despair continued to threaten; the unseen consequences of a nation so long at war.

Though he still loved his homeland, still hoped for her...Ivan knew Russia as she was now, was in flux. He knew his nation had many struggles still waiting, and he wished he had not been forced to leave the way he had...still, as violet eyes stole a glance into blue, Ivan knew, as he had known that morning, he would have done nothing different. In a world where there was no guarantee of a long life, no guarantee of love at all, luck had brought Alfred into his life, not once, but a second time, and he had no intention to waste his opportunity; an opportunity the Russian had been sure he would not get twice.

Suddenly the agent, a man named Jerry, spoke up.

"Ok...right…" He spoke while looking down at the clipboard and the form upon it. "Um, sorry...I don't know what this says." Looking up, Alfred's young coworker smiled again. "But any friend of Al's is a friend of the Bureau, so why don't I just ask you some questions, and we'll take it on faith, alright?"

Ivan nodded and pocketed his passport once more, as the other man went on. "First, the basics: name, age, height, weight, any illnesses...?"

Shelving his troubles to focus on the issue at hand, Ivan wasted no time in answering. "Ivan Braginski, 24, 198 centimeters, 95 kilograms, none."

"Um.." Jerry stared at his clipboard before looking toward Alfred. His pen having stopped just after Ivan's age.

Catching on quickly, and smiling wide, Alfred translated the metric measurements. "Um...thats just about 6 and a half feet, and uh...what, 200? um," The federal agent had to check himself as the blush began to steal across his face as he calculated his lover's weight, "no..210 pounds."

Ivan nodded and moved imperceptibly closer to Alfred as the other agent looked back to the form on the clipboard. The violet eyed Russian had noticed the flash of pink across his love's face, and before the other man looked up from writing his answers to ask the next questions, Ivan's right hand, hidden in the shadows of the wall, had found the small of his beloved blonde's back.

The other agent nodded as he wrote out the information the Russian soldier supplied, and looking back up from the clipboard he continued, "Place and date of Birth?"

Ivan answered readily as he had the previous questions, "Smolensk." though if he were to be specific, the family estate had been just outside the city.

"And the date?" Jerry went on, nearing the end of the form that would confirm and expand the information in Ivan's file.

"Ah, da," Ivan remembered, he had been here in the hospital as his birthday passed, the day he was supposed to have returned home for the trial.

"Thirtieth of December, 1897."

As one federal agent wrote the date, and readied to move on to the next questions, the other turned to look up at his lover. "Ivan." Alfred hissed beneath his breath. "You just had your birthday and you didn't say anything?" The American scolded his Russian sweetheart in one whispered breath, _"I can't believe you didn't tell me!"_

The reply quick, as Ivan dipped his head slightly to Alfred's height, silvery hair falling into his face, tickling the agent's ear, the taller man responded. "There are more important things than birthdays, Alfred. Moi Derogoy, I have not celebrated a birthday in a very long time."

Regardless of his whispered words, the weary soldier's soul had lifted; his hand still held at his lover's back, Ivan's heart had warmed at the thought that however needless and, given the circumstances, frivolous, Alfred would have surely done whatever he could to make his birthday special, and was even now, surely seething mad he hadn't told him.

Instantly, the Russian turned back, as he answered more questions, and prepared to accept the American government's protection, whatever his love's bureau could or could not do. Never missing a word as he continued to answer the agent's questions, and giving no indication of his movements, Ivan slid his hand from the smooth cotton shirt covering his love's back; down to rest comfortably in one of his American sweetheart's back pockets.

As Ivan's large hand moved down the curve of his lower back to find its way into the back left pocket of his slacks, the American agent moved nearer to his soviet sweetheart in order to give them more cover against the wall. Each time the two men were able to touch, however briefly, whether it was the quick kisses or hidden intimate moments, when in need of reassurance and strength, the American could wrap his arms around his Russian lover and breath deep, renewing his confidence and hope...and though his lover's touch was exhilarating, Agent Jones was torn between the feel of Ivan's hand in his pocket and anger that welled up in his chest; not anger at the Russian for withholding the information, but anger and shock that he hadn't asked his Russian beau this question himself.

_I've hopped into bed with, and fallen in love with a communist, and I didn't even know his birthday..._

Alfred thought guiltily of how quickly he'd hopped into that bed; guiltily, but never regretfully. _Well, everything else was in the file, damnit...and, _the former flyboy considered, _Its not like I hadn't met him before... even if I was sort of out of it..._

Torn from his train of thought, the bespectacled blonde folded his arms across his chest and nodded seriously, as though his bedsheets weren't still disrupted from their last night in his apartment, as though the man in question didn't currently have his hand resting on the curve of his buttocks. Alfred focused and with difficulty, kept a straight face as his coworker asked if he could vouch for the Russian's character, and would he therefore be able to offer him room for the duration that Ivan was in danger.

"Of course." The one agent told the other, "This man saved my life during the war; he's a very …dear friend."

His heart now less troubled, Ivan continued answering questions; his hand still happily resting in the back of his lover's pants. Beside him, bolstered in spirit, Alfred planned that _after_ his brother awoke, they would throw Ivan the best birthday party he had ever experienced. And Matthew would make the food, because Matt was the best cook ever, so they would wait until after his recovery.

* * *

Just beyond the door, able to hear the muffled voices on the other side, Gilbert sat, as usual beside his unconscious Canadian's bed. The pale German rested his chin in his hand, slouching in his seat as he listened to the man sitting opposite speak in flowered breathes, gesturing grandly, speaking words unknown to Gilbert but words he hoped with fervent passion were reaching his Mathew. He had to believe Matt could hear them; he had to believe his scholarly love was there, beneath the sleep, working hard to return.

Crimson eyes moved from watching his man's chest rise and fall with each slumbering breath. Gilbert's weary gaze roved over the face of the man who spoke; the crooner's words as fluid as his songs, to the flowers the Frenchman had brought. The bouquet, now sitting in the window sill, the vibrancy of the irises catching the last weak rays of the setting sun.

Gilbert's heart clenched as he looked at the vase of flowers. Each of his employees and regular entertainers had signed the card. Though the bartender hadn't said anything about his Canadian scholar to anyone at the Roost, and had only shown his affection outwardly at his club the first night they had met, clearly, each of his employees had discovered how important Mathew was to their boss. It was a surprising comfort to know his staff had recognized the change that had overcome him; love, they had seen what love had done to him.

Smiling sadly, his eyes dropping from the flowers to the still closed eyes of the man who had changed his life so drastically, the German rubbed his chin absentmindedly. How long had it been since he'd shaved? Certainly more than a few days. The scratchy white stubble proof and testament to his preoccupation and reluctance to leave his injured man's side.

He swore he'd be there when Matt woke. Each time necessity dictated he leave the wounded professor's bedside, he hurried through whatever task it was that had called him away. In fact, the pale German's crimson eyes widened as he realized he hadn't left the room in days.

He'd moved from the chair of course. Paced the room when Mathew's brother wasn't. He'd stretched, read the paper until the articles reminded him that Romano continued to walk free. He slept, yes, always in the chair, drawn up close to his Canadian's bed. Gilbert rubbed at his eyes with a sigh as Francis continued to speak.

Sleep. His sleep was fitful and deep when it came; the guilt which never left him, gnawing at his heart each time he began to drift into unconsciousness. Each night he prayed as he hadn't done in years, each night he secretly hoped his beloved scholar would wake in his place.

The little yellow fluff that was Gilbird hopped from the foot of the bed up to the space between the unconscious man's knees and settled to sleep as Francis ended the one sided conversation. Standing, the Frenchman spoke softly, drawing the German's attention.

"It would be my pleasure to return and speak with Mattieu from time to time...until 'e wakes of course." Francis looked back to the agent's brother with compassion. "All at ze' Roost are praying for 'im, and for you."

"Merci Francis." Gilbert put the limited French he knew to use, as standing he turned toward the door while the singer readied to leave. One hand to the door, the other scratching absentmindedly at his chin, the bartender turned back to crooner, "Vhat did you talk about?"

Reaching his arms into the stylish royal blue trenchcoat, the other man smiled. "Ah, mon ami, I told 'im I didn't know 'im well, but zhat I expected to get to know 'im much better when 'e wakes and zhis 'ole affair is over. I spoke of so many beautiful places in France, and zhat when he wakes you will take 'im zhere." The blonde pulled his hair back from his face in preparation for the wind outside. "Young lovers must go to Paris."

"Ja.." Gilbert's gaze went to Matt laying on the bed, as unresponsive as the first night he had arrived. Silently he swore he would do exactly that, if only his Mathew would wake, he'd take him anywhere he wanted to go.

The French crooner once again drew his attention, seriously Francis placed one hand on Gilbert's shoulder. "Everyone at Ze' Roost is with you." He stepped closer as the exhausted albino smiled weakly in gratitude, and mustering his old confidence, the pale man prepared to open the door. "Keeping the place hopping, yet hidden, making me a rich man vhile I am away, ja?"

As both men laughed, and turned toward the door, it opened unexpectedly from the outside.

Ivan entered first, a smile on his face an arm around his sister, whose wide blue eyes went immediately to the man lying on the bed. Katyusha's eyes suddenly watery, she moved from under her younger brother's arm to place her daisies beside the irises on the windowsill.

Just behind Ivan, Alfred entered the room, already halfway through a sentence, "-still can't believe you didn't tell me your birthday passed!" The agent finished with a friendly slap on the back to his Russian love, and a quick nod of greeting to the French singer. Careful to portray the air of friendship and nothing more around the unknown man, he went on. "Just like you didn't tell me Russians give Christmas gifts on New Years, or that Christmas isn't til January 7th!"

Ivan turned, his slight smile broader, and eyes sparkling as he returned his American's physical expression of friendship. "I told you, Alfred, the state discourages the celebration of Christmas." The taller man went on, noting his love's expression with humor, "Besides, we exchanged gifts already..." Violet eyes wide, Ivan stopped mid-sentence, not wishing to remind his brave, but worried man of the events that had clouded this year's holidays.

Instead, he changed the subject, introducing himself to the french singer who stood, preparing to leave beside the door.

The third floor hall grew quiet as time passed, the day shift ending, taking with it the majority of hospital employees as well as regular visitors. The minute hand of the clock in the hall continued closer toward six as the group chatted with Francis at the door, quickly learning there was no need for pretense around the open-minded artist.

The hidden yakuza and cheka operatives stayed, still and silent, each waiting for the opportune moment, each still unaware of the other as both watched the door to the room, and paid close attention to the amount of staff left on the floor as the night shift began.

* * *

"I zhink you should keep ze beard, Gilbert;" Francis spoke as one hand rubbed his own stubbled chin. "A little bit of a beard can make ze man." Blue eyes left crimson as the Frenchman turned his attention to the tall Ukrainian beauty standing beside her brother. "''eet was enchanting to meet you Ekaterina," Francis continued silkily noting her blush with a smile, "You like music, non?" Leaning just out the door, he brought his fingers to his lips and blew a kiss, "Come to ze' Roost some night and I will sing a song just for you, cherie."

Eyes barely leaving the statuesque madame, Francis looked toward her brother as he stepped out into the hall, "Eet was a pleasure; au revoir." Then with a quick nod to the agent now moving toward his brother's bedside, the crooner turned and left, closing the door behind him. As he walked through the hall, unknowingly passing the hidden assassins, the Frenchman's thoughts turned toward his own personal revenge.

News of the now infamous Christmas shooting had spread quickly among the underground as well as the law abiding citizenry. An incurable romantic, the singer had been furious and heartbroken over the tragedy that had put his boss's sweet Canadian beau in a coma, as well as had all the staff of the mafia-frequented club. What was more was the sense of needed justice. The Frenchman hurried down the steps on a mission of his own. It was only right that Don Vargas' hot headed brother pay for his actions, as Kirkland would have to pay for his.

A smile crossing his lips momentarily, a chuckle escaped his throat. The worldly singer knew of course, exactly who the Ukrainian woman was; he knew also of her relationship with that peddler of poisons, the former physician, his most hated enemy.

A beautiful, business minded, modern woman such as she deserved so much better than the dealer...

Exciting the stairwell into the lobby, Francis spoke under his breath "Oui", he would take more from Kirkland than his life.

The Frenchmen left the hospital's front doors, and turning up his collar against the wind, he made his way through the darkening evening toward the Roost and the stage that awaited his performance. Thoughts far from work, he wished for justice to find the Don's brother, wherever he hid.

The sensitive musician had seen the look in his employer's crimson eyes; he'd not mistaken it, as it was a fire he knew glowed in his own. It was clear Gilbert Beilschmidt wanted few things as much as he wanted to be the instrument of that justice.

Stepping quickly, as he turned the corner, the bright neon yellow sign just visible a few blocks down, Francis swore he would waste no more time in bringing his own justice to Kirkland. Each night after his performance at the club, he'd find and trail the fallen doctor; he would find him, corner him, and end his life as surely as the Englishman had ended his beloved Mona's. No more time would be wasted; no more chances for the Brit to fall into someone else's hands.

* * *

As Francis reached the Roost, and made his way backstage to warm up, those he had just left were chatting amicably. Settling in for the evening in their usual fashion, Gilbert sat beside Mathew's sleeping form, pale fingers interlaced with his love's soft hands as he whispered words of devotion and promise in his native tongue. Alfred's feet found their usual rhythm as Ivan took up his customary place beside the window. Leaning against the sill, his elbow beside the two vases of flowers, the Russian carried a conversation with both his penitent sister and pacing sweetheart.

Determined to learn all he could about his man, as well as avoid dwelling on his brother's ailment, Alfred had a new question for Ivan with each turn.

Sighing, the small smile etched onto his face, the broad Russian indulged his lover's questioning. "Da, horseback riding. It was my favorite past time. And you, dorogoy?" Registering the grin and answer of "Baseball, baby!" Ivan also returned to the more serious conversation with his older sister.

As he listened to Alfred, go on and on about Babe Ruth's recent 1919 move to the Yankee's in New York and then about the 'Black Sox scandal implicating Chicago's own Shoeless Joe Jackson in the very same year, Ivan's eyes were on his sister's watery gaze as Katyusha's fingers found the hem of the scarf she had given him in childhood.

"Vanya, prostitye menya-" the tears dropped from her lower lashes as the madame looked to the agent's brother and back to her own. Though it had been the Italian's bullet that had put the young professor in the hospital, Katyusha knew how close both the twins had come to death while she stood by doing nothing. Though Jones could have her deported and the Gold Star shut down if he didn't continue to overlook the true nature of her business, Katyusha wanted nothing more than for her little brother to find happiness. "I should have come to you right away," She spoke between sobs, "...I should have stopped her all along, I.. I need to tell you, Vanya, Natalya-

It was then that it happened; so quickly that it took a moment for those in the room to register.

Softly spoken German words still on his tongue, Gilbert jumped up from his seat as Alfred stopped in his reverie of the Philadelphia Phillie's 1915 pennant win and moved in front of his sweetheart's sister, the truth she had been about to speak forgotten.

Chaos entered as the door broke from its hinges, swinging wildly. The scuffle that had apparently started in the hall continued as eight men burst into the room. bullets flew along with words in two very different languages. The language barrier which had clearly caused some miscommunication among the two groups of assassins, each territorial of their marks, quickly made way for a moment of understanding as one Russian elbowed his way to the front and in a swift movement, took aim at Ivan.

Putting aside their differences for the moment, under the shared goal, the yakuza mobsters and cheka operatives appeared to work together.

Shoving his love's sister out of harm's way for the second time since meeting her, Alfred reached for his gun and met Ivan's violet eyes as his soviet captain whispered a single word of recognition, "Cheka."

A bolt of cold resignation struck his heart as Ivan dove for the pipe leaning against the wall. Taking it up with his uninjured left arm, the Russian soldier clashed with the men sent for him as his American love took aim at the Japanese assassins. In the moment that it took him to reach it, the plumbing implement sliced through the air, knocking the pistol from one operative's hand, to follow through with a crack to the now unarmed man's skull.

One enemy down, Ivan spared only the quickest of glances to his love and sister as he ducked the bullets and traded blows with the two relentless Russian assassins.

Alfred didn't see as Ivan backed into the corner; instead the agent gripped the weapon he now always kept at the ready, and aimed again and again at the Japanese mobsters who moved like lightening around the room. Their bullets shot through the air toward the federal agent just as he ducked behind a chair taking aim himself as his targets continued to move forward. Terrified to look toward his brother laying exposed on the bed, the blue eyed man instead focused on taking out as many of the yakuza threat as he could. Across from where he knelt, Alfred could just see Gilbert ducking a flash of steel and landing a blow to the gut of the man he fought against.

Victoriously, the agent's bullet found a home in one of the Japanese mobster's chests as the unknown dark haired foe dropped to his knees. Ducking another bullet as it whizzed past his head, Alfred yelled for Ivan's sister to stay down as he reloaded. Eyes still on the German's back as Gilbert continued to fight, the American prayed the pale man would keep his brother safe.

As the federal agent loaded his pistol and again took aim at one of the Japanese assailants, a sudden scream from behind him flooded his heart, chilling the blood in his veins.

"Nyet, Vanya!"

Katyusha continued to scream and scramble forward from where Alfred had pushed her.

Shoving her back again, the agent swiveled on his knees toward the corner of the hospital room where he'd last seen his Russian man.

Blue eyes widened, his stomach dropping like cold lead, Alfred saw his strong man losing ground. Still under attack from the yakuza members closing in, he edged along the wall toward his Russian love, only giving the Japanese assassins half his attention.

However, as the metal pipe hit the tile with a sickening clang and Katyusha screamed again, Alfred forgot the mobsters entirely. The agent's attention had been solely captured by the actions of the men in the corner of the room.

The two remaining assassins had worked together against the larger Russian. Imposing men in their own rights, the operatives had none the less sustained injuries themselves before they at last overpowered the well trained soldier.

Having sunk a knife beneath his left shoulder blade, one of Ivan's assailants twisted the serrated weapon with a grin. Blood trickled already down his right arm, from the gunshot wounds he had incurred at the hand of the Don's hot headed brother, reopened by the men he know fought against. Both arms now held behind his back, Ivan's eyes were slits of violet rage. Grimacing as the knife was turned, no sound escaped his lips, but a curse growled in the space between blows to his abdomen as the other men took advantage of his now defenseless state. "Poshol k yobanoi materi!"

Determined to show no pain or fear in the face of his death, Ivan straightened to the best of his ability and spat in the other man's face. It would only be a matter of time before the assassins tired of toying with him and did as they had been instructed. He harbored no delusions that he would be brought back alive.

Alfred didn't catch the opperative's reply, spoken in Russian as it was, but only registered the connection of a fist to his beloved man's strong jaw, and the bloody spittle that dripped from Ivan's lower lip as the man raised his gun and took aim against his Vanya's heart.

Forgetting the Japanese mobster he'd been trading shots with only a moment ago, Alfred jumped up from behind the chair; turning, he fired immediately into the corner of the room. The bullet shot from his gun, burying itself deep in the scull of the cheka assassin who crumpled, falling to the ground in a heap. Running forward, he took aim and fired a second shot between the eyes of the man holding Ivan's arms behind his back.

Hot pain shot through his side as he ran. The Japanese man for which he'd been previously aiming had taken advantage of the sudden distraction. Alfred paid no mind to the pain nor the blood quickly soaking his shirt as he moved toward his love.

Agent Jones was only slightly aware of madame Braginskaya, ducking the bullets fired after him as she left her place of safety. The former aristocrat went for the pistol the first fallen cheka operative had dropped earlier. Tear tracks still wet on her cheeks, the stately woman gripped the weapon tightly and took up the agent's vacated place, giving the American the cover he needed.

Ignoring the pain in his side and the hot, sticky substance that was his own blood, Alfred's heart pounded as he reached Ivan.

Nearly slipping in the blood now spreading in pools around the fallen Russian operatives, Alfred hurried to carefully remove the knife from Ivan's back and then knelling to retrieve the gun from the hand of the closest cadaver, he spoke rapidly, "Vanya- you ok, baby?"

Instead of the answer he expected, the Agent found himself scooped into the larger man's arms. Wounded, sore, and bloodied as they were, Ivan pulled Alfred close. However it wasn't long before the wounded Russian reached out, holding him at arm's length with a frown. "Moi lyubov - what is this? You have been shot?"

"What?" the blonde followed his lover's violet gaze down to the red stain spreading across his side. Thoughtlessly, the agent lifted his shirt, wincing at the wet fabric's brush against his wound.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Alfred poked at the bullet hole in his skin. Bloody, yes, but it had only sliced through muscle, not an organ. He was pretty sure, anyway. The American grinned, shrugging as he handed the cheka opperative's gun to his worried man. "Nothing, it's nothing"

"My flyboy." Ivan smiled, appreciatively, taking the offered weapon in his right hand, with only some difficulty considering his injury, the captain continued, "Of course it is nothing."

Violet eyes roved over blue again, and wasting no time, Ivan ran his hand through Alfred's disheveled blonde locks, and as his sister dropped not one but two of the remaining yakuza men, the Russian pulled his American in close; lips meeting quickly but passionately, the soldiers pouring their unspoken thoughts into the kiss.

The moment since the American agent had taken out the cheka operatives seemed, to the two men, much longer, however, in reality the events in the bloody corner of the room had taken but a minute.

Brought instantly back to reality, Alfred turned toward the sound of furious German swearing as Gilbert fought hand to hand against his adversary. The Japanese mobster's kitana shining where it had fallen on the floor beside the wasted door; both his and the pale German's pistols tossed aside, out of bullets.

Ivan's sister stood from where she had crouched behind the overturned chair, her gun aimed at the last assassin apart from the one now sparring with the capo's brother.

'Click...click'

The sound of the empty chamber was loud in her ears, and did not go unnoticed by the man for whom she'd been aiming.

With only a quick glance her direction, the dark haired man dismissed her, clearly with other orders on his mind, he dropped to the floor and retrieving his fallen brothers' weapons, stood in a flash, a gun in each hand, and fired at both men now attempting to cross the room.

Impeded by the smaller man, who ducked their shots with no injuries to slow him down, Alfred was furiously helpless to do more than watch as the only face he knew, Kiku Honda, known friend of the Vargas brothers, backed toward his weapon

Ducking Gilbert's swing, Kiku dropped to the ground and sprang up, steel in hand.

Crimson eyes widened then narrowed to slits. It was clear his brother's friend didn't want him dead. Instead, Kiku appeared to be holding back, each shot had been aimed to incapacitate, not to kill, and now it was obvious his goal was to knock him out, as the German just maneuvered out of the way of the sword's hilt.

"You know there can be no witnesses, Beilschmidt_-_san_. _The Don does not want you dead. You will forget about this man, these new friends. You must accept this and come with me."

The Japanese mobster's expression serious, he sliced the air with his weapon, bringing it down on the bartender's shoulder in a show of intention. Blood now staining the steel, Kiku withdrew his weapon and again slashed the air, backing Gilbert up against the bed where Mathew lay, still and seemingly unaware.

His brother's friend's dark eyes looking into his own, Kiku's blade against his throat, Gilbert was pressed against the side of the bed, his hand brushing Mathew's leg beneath the blanket as blood trickled down his arm to stain the sheets in droplets of red.

Above the fray came the sound of a bird, as, feather's fluffed, Gilbird peaked down from the overhead light fixture to harass his master's opponent.

The shorter man hadn't gotten where he had by accident however, and keeping his sword tight against the albino's neck, resistant to distraction, Kiku again implored the German to see reason.

"They are going to die." He tilted his head toward Ivan and Alfred, back to back, covering eachother and trying to fight through the blood loss which was clearly beginning to have an effect as they furiously traded shots with the last assassin; the other man dodging their attacks with lithe speed. "And if he wakes with memory, he dies too." Kiku leaned in darkly, indicating Mathew. The Japanese mobster went on, "I am only speaking the truth. If you were not-"

But Gilbert cut him off there. His fingers still touching Mathew's leg, the pale German's gaze hardened. "If I vere not vhat? Ludwig's brother? Have I complicated things for Ludwig, for his precious Feliciano?" White hair falling across his face, Gilbert growled as an animal trapped, pressing against the blade, uncaring in the slightest as it cut into his neck. Leaning up against the experienced, yet smaller man, who had clearly hoped for a different reaction, the capo's older brother's voice was grave. His words spat with vitriolic hate. Hate at what his brother had become, at his own part in it, at the man who couldn't take rejection and had pulled the trigger that laid low his innocent scholar, at the tragedy and cruelty of Feliciano's family occupation, when not long ago, he'd called the don his friend. Above all, at the fact that this man, a friend to his brother, had thought for a moment that he would walk away from the man he loved.

Loathing boiled in his blood, masking the pain that shot from shoulder to fingertips as he acted fast, without a thought.

"Verpiss dich, Honda!" Unflinching as the steel cut into his neck, the taller man straightened, pushing against the sword until he pressed it against its owner, shoving his weight into the weapon, Gilbert slammed Kiku against the wall beside the door.

"Du Hurensohn, du gottverdammt Mutterficker!" His eyes flashed in hot rage, his face flushed with anger, the pale man held his enemy where he stood against the wall.

His wounded arm holding his brother's associate to the wall, Gilbert pulled back the other in a tight fist. In less than a breath's time he'd followed through with a forceful punch to the other man's nose.

With few bullets left, and hearing the loud crack that was the back of his brother in arm's head hitting the wall behind him, the Japanese mobster gaining on the agent and his Bolshevik beau stopped and turned toward his fellow.

Head pounding, the light violently bright, Kiku stumbled. Sword weakly in hand, he blinked to focus. Was that blood he tasted? The acrid, coppery taste in his mouth as well as the wet substance flowing from his clearly broken nose told him it was. Vision clearing, his heart dropping heavy with failure, he nodded toward his companion even as his German adversary advanced; the pale man's knuckles as blood red as his eyes.

The other Asian assassin nodded quickly back in response, jumping to the side, he barely missed the agent's dizzy shot. Already, the sirens sounded in the distance; backup on it's way.

Kiku's compatriot shot out the window and leapt atop the sill, sending the vases of flowers to crash against the floor, their petals drifting on the pools and splatters of blood and the bodies of unsuccessful yakuza. With barely a look back, he sprayed the room with the last of his ammunition before leaping onto the fire escape and rushing down toward the waiting car.

Never had a moment to assess whether his fellow's bullets had found a home, Kiku had been shoved out the door into the hall while the other man dropped down the fire escape.

Gilbert stood tall, no longer slouching or easy going, he stood over the man who'd tried to murder his friends, his lover. The rage that coursed hot through his blood cooled fast. His expression now one more commonly seen on his younger brother's face by men who were not long for this world, the crimson eyed German held the smaller man's sword arm in a tight grip.

His eyes slits of ruby fire, his words meant for someone else, Gilbert spoke low and clear as he walked down the hall forcing his adversary backwards. Jaw held in a tight line, he passed the few hospital employees as they peaked around doors and edged along the wall toward the room he'd left now that the sound of gunfire had ceased.

Hatred dripping with each word, the pale man leaned in close as he called the elevator up with the press of a button. "Romano started this; he can finish it." Red eyes glinting with promised violence were inches from those of dark understanding as he went on, "He can do his own dirty vork."

The German bartender shoved the Japanese mobster into the elevator as the doors opened with a ding. For the years they had lived in the states he'd had more talent than his brother at assimilating and hiding his accent, a talent worth much after the war. Lately however, his emotions riding high, the pain and anger searing in his heart, it was simply enough that he spoke in English, a secondary but common language with the man now holding a hand to his bleeding nose.

Holding the cage doors from closing, Gilbert stressed each syllable. "Tell him I _vill_ be vaiting for him." His words now in danger of losing their clarity, he paused to pull himself together. "Tell mein bruder and _his boss_ not to get in my vay."

Allowing the doors to close at last, Gilbert watched through the decorative metal as his brother's friend slipped from view. When finally there was nothing but the empty shaft staring back at him, Gilbert moved back toward the room, his unconscious Canadian, his only thought. The pain at his neck and shoulder finally calling his attention, one pale hand went to his throat and came back sticky with blood.

As a nurse rushed out from Mathew's room toward him, Gilbert realized what a sight he must be. Never the less, he pushed past her offered ministrations. He had to check...had to know Matt was ok.

If he'd thought he was a sight, it was because he hadn't had a moment to look at either of his friends. Skidding to a halt at the door, Gilbert first made sure Mathew was alright, well, that his state was unchanged at any rate. Looking around the room, his gasp involuntary as eyes widening, the pale and bloodied man took in the scene before him.

While he'd fought Kiku and done his best to shield Mathew from harm, Alfred and Ivan had clearly done work of their own, and paid for it. The agent and his soviet lover sat together side by side in the newly righted, bullethole ridden chairs as their wounds were tended by shaken nurses.

All around the two men, the bodies of their fallen enemies lay. Laid down by either Ivan's pipe, or Alfred or Katyusha's bullets, the once white tile floor now red with blood. Grinning wide as his side was bandaged, the American agent greeted the German at the door with woozy gratitude.

"Attaboy Gil!" Alfred beamed before leaning back against Ivan's chair; his nurse now examining a wound to the agent's hip sustained during the last wanton spray of bullets. "Way to go buddy - I don't know what we'd have done without you and Katyusha. By the way," Adjusting his glasses, the agent went on with a nod toward his beau's sister. "Think you can get that French friend of yours to walk her home? I don't want her out there on her own tonight."

At Alfred's words of concern for his sister, Ivan's violet eyes softened as he looked to the man beside him. Teeth clenching as his wounds were cleaned and bandaged, the old as well as the new, the taller Russian's expression was never the less tinted with the touch of love, happy that Alfred didn't hold a grudge for Katyusha's passive complicity with Natalya when his younger sister had been in town.

Sure Francis would be happy to oblige, Gilbert promised to call the crooner soon, as finally relenting to medical attention, the white haired German allowed his shirt to be removed, his shoulder and neck tended to.

Crimson eyes watched as his Russian friend's sister straightened the young professor's bedding, and sitting beside him, in the chair Gilbert so rarely left, the Ukrainian madame spoke to the unconscious man. A soft smile gracing her lips, Katyusha told Mathew of the events of the night, of the bravery of those who loved him.

Drifting in his own thoughts, Gilbert looked on, unfocused as the wound to his shoulder was stitched closed. Nearly, he missed the gasp, but clearly he heard the cry as Katyusha called for attention, her voice wavering but clear.

Jumping up, Gilbert rushed to her side. Giving not a care to the needle that dangled on the thread from his shoulder, nor the surprised admonition of the nurse he'd pushed out of the way, his attention belonged solely to Mathew as he reached his Canadian's side.

Gilbert could feel Alfred and Ivan at the bedside as well, but his eyes were only on the man who'd stolen his heart as Mathew's lower lip twitched. Heart standing still, he listened disbelieving, as a faraway sound akin to the words spoken by a man deep within a dream came from the unconscious Canadian's throat.

Could it be? Was there a glimmer of hope? The pale man hesitated, afraid to hope to strongly, no matter how his heart was now leaping in his chest.

_{prostitye menya = forgive me_

_Verpiss dich, Honda! = the German version of Piss off, Fuck you! that sort of thing_

_Du Hurensohn, du gottverdammt Mutterficker! = You son of a bitch, you god damn mother fucker!}_

* * *

As Gilbert stood stock still at his lover's beside, the young professor's brother staggering as he ran down the hall heedless of his wounds, calling for the neurologist, the mood was quite different uptown.

Snow falling in soft flurries, the wind swirling around them, the mafioso and his diligent capo stood at the back door of the stately townhouse, the home of Feliciano's rival. Knowing nothing of their friend's failure at the hospital, the two men had but one thought: to end the threat Giovanni posed; to see that he never met with Natalya Arlovskaya.

Moments before, Don Vargas and his capo had watched as their target arrived home accompanied by a few lackeys and his favored nephew. They'd watched as the men had been met by others at the door.

Once the marked men were inside, the German nodded to his Italian love, and gripping the gift Feliciano had given him for Christmas, Ludwig opened the car door, stepping out into the shadowed street. Closing the audi's doors behind them, careful not to make a sound, the two men had then strode purposefully toward their enemy's home.

Now standing against the wall beside the back door, Ludwig turned toward Feliciano with a nod. His expression serious, the broad shouldered blonde moved toward the door. Up the steps, his ear to the cold wood, the capo listened to the sounds of the kitchen.

Inside, a woman's voice was clear and laughing as she spoke a one sided conversation. The person with whom she conversed was either on the phone or out of their earshot. Ludwig bent to relay this information to Feliciano; it was imperative they know what they were walking into; the less witnesses the better.

The stoic German clamped down tight on his heart as his lips neared his boss's ear. Reminding himself of the stakes, of just what was at risk were they to fail in this endeavor, the former soldier steeled himself for what was to come. He'd die before he let anything happen to the petite Italian now looking up into his eyes. Those caramel eyes so full of certainty, so full of confidence and faith...

Breaking the gaze at last, the don moved past his capo, fingers brushing lightly against his German man's gloved hand, Feliciano held his gun close as he stepped past Ludwig and made his way to the door.

Words his Grandfather had taught him rang in his memory as he reached for the door. To be forewarned was to be forearmed. They would have to act quickly, charm could do more than bullets in some cases. Feeling his capo's hand now at the small of his back, the petite boss gripped the doorknob, turning it slowly. The words his Grandpa had said to him so long ago on his tongue. Reminiscently they sounded, a whisper of a breath as Don Vargas prepared to step into his enemy's home.

"_Uomo avvisato, mezzo salvato."_

The moment he'd entered, the petite mafioso had taken in his surroundings as he'd been trained to do since childhood. Giovanni's favorite girl leaned against the counter, her fingers twirled around the telephone cord, receiver to her ear as she leaned in toward the mouthpiece. Wide green eyes stared in recognition; her mouth fell open to speak.

She was the only one in the kitchen.

Shaking his head, one finger to his lips, Ludwig stepped through the door behind Feliciano. Silent in his natural intimidation, the muscular blonde strode toward the door leading further into the house while the slender Italian smiled as he spoke, putting sweet reassurance into each word.

"Ciao, bella." Feliciano knew how to charm, and taking one look toward his German lover, the mob boss leaned against the counter. "You know who I am, si?"

Nervously glancing toward each of the notorious criminals, the woman nodded as she hung up the phone without goodbye nor explanation to the person on the other end.

Removing his fedora, the mafioso continued to smile, the gun in his hand quite visible. "I have business with Giovanni tonight." Caramel eyes watched the girl's expression. No flicker of understanding or expectation crossed her face.

"Veh~" The sigh was soft and nearly inaudible as the boss breathed his relief. She didn't know; Giovanni had kept to the code and not spoken about his business.

Ludwig watched from the door to the parlor as Feliciano sighed and continued to speak to the clearly terrified girl. The petite Italian's relief at not having to take care of his enemy's molly was palpable; it was something the capo loved about his boss. Feliciano went out of his way to avoid killing innocents whenever possible. Always, persuasion, black mail, and simple intimidation or bribery were tried before permission for a hit was given.

Of course, when it was necessary, as it was tonight, his sweet Italian wouldn't shy away from what needed to be done. Ludwig's thoughts continued as chivalrously Feliciano withdrew a wad of cash from his wallet and walking the girl toward her coat and the door, the mafia don explained tonight was a night to go out with her friends, his treat. His ear to the parlor door, the capo's clear blue eyes continued to watch his love tell the nodding dame she ought to stay somewhere else tonight, and furthermore, there were better men than Giovanni; with whom he'd gladly set her up if she wished.

Seeming to get the hint, the young woman thanked the don in a whisper and reaching for her purse and hat, she stepped out silently, never attempting a warning for her man.

Turning from the door, the slender brunette sighed again, and putting his hat back on, Feliciano adjusted his coat. Spending a moment at the cuffs of his sleeves just under those of his jacket, fingers lingered on the little amber and gold glass squares at his wrists. With another breathe, Feliciano stood straight, fully in his role as Don, the young Italian was ready to be done with the evening's business. Head held high, the boss crossed the room toward his devoted capo.

"Veh," Feliciano sighed again almost silently. Raising a hand to toy with one of the buttons of his love's coat, the Italian's words were soft as he stood in his enemy's home. "Ready, amore mio?"

Caramel eyes looked up into blue, the simple question weighted so strongly by what was at stake, their reputations, their lives... Everyone in that room had to die, the five families would become four; their rival had to be proven a traitor and Feliciano was ready to stand before the other heads of his organization and tell of Giovanni's easy relationship with the Belarussian, the justification for his murder.

All this had to happen, and standing with his diligent love, the mafioso knew it would. The tall blonde always came through when he needed something done, someone disappeared or shaken down. His finger still on the shiny black button, eyes pouring up into those of sky blue, Feliciano readied his gun. "Veh, Ludwig, I never would have made it this far without you."

Silent for a moment, the soldier's ear still to the door as he made certain the men on the other side were unaware of their presence. Satisfied this was the case, the capo addressed the mafioso. Vision moving first to the hand on his coat, his heart skipping at the cufflinks his love wore at his wrist, and had worn each day since Christmas, Ludwig brought his free hand to Feliciano's.

A soft pink ghost of a blush rushed across the tall blonde's face as he released his brunette's hand and instead, he moved to lift the chin of his petite boss and lover. One gloved thumb caressing the space below the mafioso's bottom lip, Ludwig tilted Feliciano's face upward as he lowered his own. Bringing their lips together in a fleeting moment of devotion, reveling in the familiar feel of the other man's kiss, the stoic German expressed himself more in action than he could with words, while just separated by a few inches of wood, there stood a room full of their enemies.

Finally breaking for the work which couldn't be ignored, Ludwig added in a whisper spoken against his Feliciano's soft lips, "Nein Feli, _I _vould not be here vithout _you_."

The broad blonde then straightened, his mind on what must be done, his hold on his lover's chin slowly dropping, Ludwig paused for a heartbeat of a moment, his gun at the ready.

Feliciano nodded once. The babyfaced mobster's caramel eyes hardened in an expression rarely seen crossing the young Don's face.

The go ahead clear, the larger man nodded once in response before stepping back, kicking in the door and holding the trigger of his custom submachine gun.

Bullets spraying the room, the capo entered, his boss right behind him. Short lived sounds of surprise at the unexpected attack died fast. Those who didn't act quick enough to get out of the way dropped to the ground as either Ludwig's or Feliciano's bullets penetrated vital organs.

Their targets were in the same business as they however, and in such a business, weapons are always at the ready. Backing up fast, Ludwig shielded his slender Italian love behind him as the eight survivors of the group retaliated with semi-automatic guns of their own.

Bullets shot through the air in all directions to find homes in the wall, in the kitchen cabinets, shattering wine bottles that had been set out on the table. The broad shouldered German capo moved fast, his hand still on the trigger, the stream of bullets rattling from his gun, giving pause to the men on the other side. Ludwig was careful to keep one eye on the lithe Italian as Feliciano ducked behind furniture to aim piercing shots at his rival's men.

He had learned his lesson ages ago. He'd not let Feliciano out of his sight tonight.

The stately kitchen deteriorated instantly under the damage caused by bullets splintering wood, shattering glass, and slicing through men.

Knowing a wider space was necessary; Ludwig ducked the hail of enemy fire to run to his Italian's side. Together they backed out the door, Giovanni and his men in rapid pursuit.

How many had been felled by his bullets as they entered the parlor, Ludwig had no idea. He did however pay close attention to the numbers he and Feliciano now fought against. Backing out the door, the diligent capo had noticed as first one, then two and finally three of their enemies had dropped to the ground.

This left six against two.

_Then why_, Ludwig wondered as he covered Feliciano and ducked around the corner of the house to the alley that ran alongside, _why did they face only four?_

As the two lead the four into a better defendable area, full of parked cars and dumpsters, the capo didn't have much time to ponder the disturbing question. Instead, he took up a position behind a parked ford, as across the way his petite love reloaded his weapon with a wink and a smile.

_{Uomo avvisato, mezzo salvato.= to be forewarned is to be forearmed.}_

* * *

In the dark alley lit by a single streetlight and filled with the rat-a-tatt-a sound that had become a familiar symphony in the Chicago night, the Don and his devoted soldier fought to keep the truth of their relationship hidden, as their yakuza friend and his remaining fellow had arrived at the boathouse.

Kiku had relayed the events of the failed hit to Romano, and silent in his shame, been unable to curtail his hotheaded friend's reaction.

"He'll-a be waiting for me, huh?" the fiery brunette slammed his fist against the wall, "Well, I don't-a wanna keep him waiting then, do I?" Stomping past his Japanese friend, Romano reached the open door. Grabbing his keys in one hand, his gun in the other, the Don's older brother's mind was clear.

Everything had been muddied by his reluctance to hurt Gilbert, by his hope that... but that hope was gone, the two stood now, not as friends, not as anything more, but as enemies as sure as each breathed; Romano knew the actions he'd taken had brought them both to this un-retractable point. He'd made a mess of things, and Gilbert was right, he would have to clean it up himself. Do his own dirty work.

"Wait!" The shorter man ran to stop his Italian friend. Feet pounding across the wood plank pier, Kiku ran after Romano, "Wait, Romano-kun! You should wait to speak with your brother!"

Rounding quickly, the Italian put a hand to the Japanese mobster's shoulder. The snow falling thicker now around them, Romano was far too heated to notice that in his haste, he hadn't even taken a jacket. "No, this is my fault, Feliciano is busy, I'm-a the one to handle this-a problem!" He went on, dark brown eyes lit with an inner fire, "Gilbert was-a my weakness, I will-a take care of him myself, and-a the agent and Russian as I should have-a done on Christmas!"

His Asian friend opened his mouth, further warning on his tongue, but the Don's brother had turned already and ran along the pier to his car. Yelling back behind him, as he started the speedster, Romano's voice was deep and foreboding, " Don't worry Kiku! I shoot as fast as I drive, and my heart willa not get in my way again!"

Feeling his sense of failure ever deeper, Kiku watched his friend speed away toward the city. Out of bullets and left on the hospital room floor, his gun was far away. Lamenting his short sightedness, Kiku could not even have shot out Romano's tires. The older, more experienced man turned slowly, his heart heavy, and walked silently back toward the boathouse.

Feliciano and Ludwig would surely be at Giovanni's at this time...he couldn't call and warn them of Romano's intentions...and what if he did? The yakuza mobster's thoughts were troubled as he re-entered the boat house. Perhaps it would be best if Romano did take the men in the hospital by surprise. Surely none would be expecting an attack so soon after the last one, and though Feliciano had prohibited a hit on his lover's brother, surely Romano would be more easily forgiven than Gilbert, were one to kill the other...

Stopping beside his lone companion, the dark haired man stood at his friend's make shift desk. His thoughts continuing in circles of endless possibilities. What consequences had Romano over looked in his hasty departure? What if he were seen? Feliciano had gone on oath to say his brother was out of the country, What if the elder Vargas brother failed again at the hospital - a place sure to be crawling in federal agents now? What if he got himself killed, Kiku recalled clearly the implied promise in Gilbert's crimson eyes. What then? If Feliciano's brother rushed to confront Ludwig's and Gilbert was the one to walk away? What would this do to his two closest friends?

A heavy sigh escaped his chest as the deadly man gave in to his anxious thoughts and the crushing sense of hopeless failure. This would all have been dealt with had he succeeded. What had gone wrong? How had he failed so spectacularly? How had the few won against so many?

Lost in his despair and questioning, Kiku was rendered ineffectual. Able to see no course of action he could take, the cautious and worried man sat at the space his hotheaded friend had just left. Head in his hands, dark eyes stared down at the desktop scattered with papers.

One stood out from the rest, written in red ink, little doodles of tomatoes on the edge.

It was wrong to read the personal mail of others, Kiku's conscience reminded him sternly. However, succumbing to guilt ridden curiosity, he slid the page out from the pile, eyes widening as he read the letter.

While Kiku read the letter Antonio had written, the man for whose eyes the Spaniard had intended his words sped recklessly through the snow and ice as he neared his destination. Heart racing like his conflicted thoughts, Romano tried hard to push the crooked smile and wild red eyes from his mind. There was no room for Gilbert in his heart now. No room for thoughts of what might have been; instead of the face he'd known, Romano forced himself to picture the look of devoted concern he'd seen on the German's face as Gilbert had carried Mathew from the Belarussian's basement hell. "Goddamn potato eater!" the wind carried away his words as he sped along, never the less his heart felt the pang of rejection and anger that he'd never seen that expression on the wild bartender's face turned toward his own.

Romano met with moderate success as he hardened his heart against the object of his infatuation; tried hard to think of the letter he'd left at the boathouse, to think of the good parts of his relationship with the man in Spain. His thoughts were never of the consequences of his actions, assuming he knew best, Romano didn't think of his brother or Gilbert's as the two men fought their rival's men in the alley uptown.

* * *

The shot left the chamber in a blast of smoke and steam in the chilled winter night.

One of the four of Giovanni's lackeys fell in a heap against the alley wall, blood splattering behind him. Gun still smoking, Ludwig turned toward Feliciano to see his love faced off against two. Where then was the third? And furthermore, where was the two others? He'd seen both Giovanni and Lorenzo in the kitchen, he hadn't seen them go down. Where had they run to? Already to meet with Arlovskaya, or were they hiding like cowards inside the house?

His stomach cold with uncertainty, the capo knew he had only one more round in his gun, the tall blonde made to reload quickly as he hurried toward his beloved boss. Having emptied his new tommy-gun of ammo in their initial attack, the soldier had swung it over a shoulder on the custom made leather strap and opted for his trusty handgun for the one on one combat of the alley.

One eye on his man, Feliciano ducking behind a dumpster and firing at the two men across the alley, Ludwig gave half his attention to his own surroundings as he made to reload his gun, the questions of the missing men still begging to be answered.

But before he'd taken two steps, part of the answer was delivered.

A thud, a smack, something swung from behind, making no noise until it hit. He'd found the third man.

The bat hit with a heavy sharpness. Blue eyes squinted to aim as Ludwig's vision blurred. He spun, a bit unbalanced, and fired his last round into the blurry shape still holding the hard wooden implement he'd been hit with.

As the shape sunk to it's knees, and then fell on it's back, Ludwig turned fast, back toward Feliciano. The determined German would not let his beloved Italian down.

He commanded his vision to clear, his head to stop throbbing. _Get it under control Ludwig,_ He thought as he took a step forward. But it was as he attempted to reload that it happened.

The alley was distorted. He turned back, the blurry shape of the man he'd shot had not returned to clarity. Running one hand into his hair, and along the side of the head the bat had hit, over the bump he knew would bruise, down over the throbbing ear, Ludwig suddenly felt the cold, sticky substance he recognized as his own blood. It ran from his ear canal and dripped from the lobe.

The alley was dark, now darker. The light that once flooded the narrow brick street now flickered in and out as though the streetlamp had been shot out. His stomach lurched as he tried to focus on loading the bullets into his gun.

The capo's heart raced in panic as he could hear clearly, the shots ringing out down the alley where he knew his love was outnumbered. Only, Ludwig realized with a start, he _couldn't_ hear them clearly... the sound was amplified and distorted.

He would fight through it. There were two men left. He couldn't leave Feli out numbered. He wouldn't.

Only the verdammnt bullets kept going in and out of focus.

And the light kept flickering. How could he see if the light kept moving like that?

"Ludwig!" He heard Feliciano's voice as if from a great distance; a great distance separated by water as though he were at the bottom of a pond and his love called to him from above.

The petite mafioso's voice was pitched with panic, and his tall blonde soldier opened his mouth to call back, to let him know he was fine.

But no sound came. Instead it was the turning of his stomach, the ringing in his ear, the throbbing pulse in his temple, and the growing darkness encroaching from the periphery.

Fighting all his senses as they seemed determined to rebel against him, the capo took another step toward his boss and love.

Ludwig forced his lips to form the words, his tongue to shape the syllables he needed desperately to say. To tell Feliciano that he was fine, not to worry about him; to tell him to look out, to focus...

Weakly he managed, "Feli-" before the darkness took the blurry view of his love from him; leaving the ringing in his ears to be the only sound the tall man heard as he dropped to his knees.

Heart thudding in his chest, Feliciano's stomach felt filled with cold lead. He'd never seen his strong man felled, and the sight of blood pouring from his devoted soldier's ear, staining the golden hair of his sideburns and dripping along Ludwig's neck shot through the young mafioso's heart like a bullet.

Unthinking, all the training his Grandpa had instilled in him leaving in this moment of panic, Feliciano stood and made to move toward his love. Ludwig on his knees, one arm braced against the ground, holding the German up as he listed to the side.

Had his Grandfather's words been able to permeate the heart-thudding terror, Feliciano would have remembered never to turn his back on an enemy. Certainly never to turn his back against two.

Instead in his distraction, he was grabbed from behind by one as the other took aim at his chest.

A sound came from down the ally where his blonde man blinked bright blue eyes into the light, and shakily continued to try to load his gun.

The Don writhed in the traitorous hold of his rival's lackeys. Freeing his right arm, the youngest boss in history took aim at the man across from him and shot before the other. One down, the slender Italian continued to writhe in the larger man's hold, a stream of rapid swearing issuing from his mouth. He had to get to Ludwig, had to find Giovanni, had to stop him from reaching Arlovskaya...but most urgently, he had to get to his German's side, to stop the bleeding that terrorized his heart, to make sure Ludwig was alright.

Heart clenching, he knew he cared less about their secret getting out than losing the man he loved. If he had to choose between pursuing Giovanni or getting Ludwig help, Feliciano knew which was more important.

But he didn't have to choose.

As Feliciano fought against the man restraining him, his rival appeared around a corner.

Walking swiftly, his pistol held at his side in nonchalant confidence, Giovanni stood now behind the German capo.

Clear blue eyes fighting to stay open, the soldier shook his head in an attempt to clear it. The ringing in his ears the only sound Ludwig could hear, the alley only a patchwork of shadows in his vision, the strong man had no way to gauge his surroundings. He couldn't hear the words spoken behind him as Giovanni held a gun an inch from his head.

The hot panic running cold now in the slender Italian's veins, his Grandfather's guidance seemed to come back at last.

Feliciano moved without forethought, acting on trained instinct to protect that which he loved, the boss twisted in the larger arms of his rival's thug. Crossing his right arm over his stomach, the slender Italian shoved the barrel of his gun against the other man's gut and pulled the trigger.

With a groan he was released as Giovanni's muscle staggered backward.

Aiming behind him, caramel eyes still on the man with the gun to his lover's head, Feliciano finished what he'd started and shot the last of his rival's soldiers dead.

Barely, he registered the sound of the enemy crumpling to the ground behind him.

Don Vargas couldn't hear the sound of his own thoughts over the pounding of his heart in his ears. The screaming voice that cried out inside his mind was covered by the thundering blood that raced through his veins.

He wouldn't lose Ludwig, he couldn't. If he did...

If his strong, hardworking love never smiled, never laughed or surprised him with pasta again...

The screaming voice inside his soul broke through to promise himself that everyone would die. He'd raze his city to the ground if he lost the man he loved, and no one would underestimate their baby faced boss again.

All these thoughts raced through his mind in seconds, as he turned, aiming the gun at his rival.

The man said he wanted to bargain, said he knew something that was worth quite a lot to the boss...said if Feliciano wouldn't work with him, he'd use what he knew to depose him, said if Feliciano didn't work with him, he'd pull the trigger of the gun he held so close to the nearly unconscious German's head.

Giovanni's threatening words barely entered Feliciano's mind as he wasted no time talking.

One bullet, aimed with the precision he'd practiced silently, late at night in his youth as he prayed for his soldier's life, cut through the air to pierce Giovanni's hand, knocking the gun far from Ludwig's head.

Without hesitation, the petite mafioso continued to walk forward.

Inside he was crying out for his broad shouldered man as Ludwig dropped to one elbow on the alley's brick floor, dazed, the blood continuing to pour from his German's ear to stain the white color of his shirt, to disappear into the black wool of his coat.

But outside, the boss was all business. Don Vargas took over for terrified Feliciano who hid his softer self beneath who he was, the mafia's youngest boss, the don of Chicago, leader of the most prosperous outfit of his grandfather's business.

The cold surety of what he must do giving him strength, the younger boss took aim at his older rival as he strode forward with purpose.

The bullets left his gun with speed akin to the beating of his furious heart.

First one, then the other knee was shot out with a splintering crack of bone and cartilage. His opponent dropped to the ground, landing on the very joints the slight Italian had shattered.

Now standing right beside his dazzed blue eyed man, who'd blinked, a crease forming in his furrowed brow as he seemed to hear him approach, Feliciano held down his fears, held in check his instinctual desire to drop his gun and cling to his injured man, held back the tears that threatened just beyond his eyes.

He wouldn't give in; Ludwig would never give in and so neither would he. Feliciano instead leveled the barrel of his gun against his enemy's forehead. The hot metal searing the skin between his eyes, Giovanni spoke up.

To his credit, he didn't beg.

"I know all about you, _signore_." Looking up, he spit the word with disrespect. Knowing his execution was seconds away, the man in his thirties went on, his eyes meeting those of his younger boss', "I know all about you and that German", sneering as he continued, he dared Feliciano to refute what he knew to be true.

"Go on, fenucca; tell me I'm wrong before you kill me,_ boss_. Tell me he doesn't share your bed at night."

Instead it was with an answering smile, more wicked than seen by those whose deaths the don had dealt with as regrettable matters of business; his voice both soft and deadly at the same instance, Feliciano answered.

"You're right."

His rival's wide eyed expression lasted but a breath as the babyfaced mafioso continued, his voice honeyed and sharp as a knife. "You're right, Giovanni. I love Ludwig Beilschmidt." whispering close to the other's ear he spoke in his native tongue. "Amiamo vicenda. We love eachother."

Now straightening back up, the hand that held his gun much steadier than his heart rate, Feliciano went on, "But who are you going to tell?"

Without another word, not waiting for any further comment from the other man, the petite mafioso pulled the trigger.

Blood splattered back to land in flecks of red across his coat, his hand, his face, Feliciano cared not a bit. As his rival dropped to the ground in the slowly spreading pool of blood, the new fallen snow staining red, the most feared man in Chicago dropped to his knees in the alley.

The tears he had held in check came uncontrollable now as he tried with all his strength to help his larger lover to his feet.

Barely responding Ludwig none the less became aware that his petite Italian was at his side, under his arm, and straining to get him to stand.

Stomach lurching as the ringing in his ears came in waves, giving him moments of clear hearing, the tall capo was able to register his love's sobbing cries of "Veh, ..Bitte, bitte..." as he struggled to get the heavier man out of the alley.

Feliciano's pleading a jolt to his heart, Ludwig staggered to stand and blinking in the still blurry view of his surroundings, the German pressed himself to tell his Italian he was alright, even as his equilibrium fluxed in and out of control, the world moving around him without reason.

Ludwig willed his eyes to focus, and straining to make out a distant sign, it seemed he had regained control of his disobedient body. The alley was far from clear, but the light from the lamp post had stopped moving about, his world no longer shadow.

"Feli-" Ludwig began, aware of the difference in their weight, he moved to relieve his petite boss of his burden.

In vain, the determined man stepped forward on his own, only to stagger unbalanced, closing his eyes tight as the ground shifted below him and the world tilted from side to side.

"Ludwig! Veh!" the slight brunette was once again fighting to keep the taller man up, one arm around his German lover's back as he pressed with all his strength to shoulder his capo's weight.

Together they stumbled around the corner, retraced their steps across the dead man's lawn, and finally amidst the sound of the Italian's straining and the German's disgruntled attempts at easing the smaller man's troubles, the couple at last reached the audi they'd left parked across the street from the now empty townhouse.

Helping his German man into the passenger seat of his own car, Feliciano first took the gun from around his love's shoulder, tossing it into the backseat, he reached across his broad shouldered man to dig the keys from Ludwig's pocket.

Hurrying, not letting the worries and doubt enter his mind as sirens sounded in the distance, the Don got behind the wheel. Unused to driving, as he always had a chouffer, and Ludwig preferred to drive himself, it took Feliciano but a moment to acclimatize.

Turning the key, pressing his foot to the gas, the mafioso sped from the scene of the crime, intent on nothing but getting Ludwig back to his penthouse and calling the trusted doctor, the one who knew to ask no questions.

As the Italian slowed at an iced over bridge, pounding the steering wheel with his fist, Feliciano sounded more like his brother than himself the young mobster yelled out to no one in particular, "figlio di puttana!" and pounding his fist on the wheel, he cursed the obstacle to his speed.

Stirring, Ludwig sat up. "Aaughh." Groaning in pain, the German held a hand to his head and peered at the man he loved, eyes going in and out of focus, the injured man spoke, the ringing now in only one ear. "Feli... ve vere victorious, ja?"

"Veh! Ludwig-" Feliciano looked toward his beloved as they idled behind the line of cars. "Si, si, we were!" Leaning across the seat, Feliciano was caught up in his man's strong arms. One hand going softly into golden hair, watery caramel eyes met dazzed sky blue, "I thought I would lose you, veh, I can't lose you!"

The tears came again and tracked down his face as the don kissed his capo in abandon on the icy bridge, the darkness of the night and falling snow providing cover to their affection.

The German returned his Italian man's passion, until able to ignore no more the throbbing in his head, the churning of his stomach as the world tilted uneasily, all but Feliciano in his arms, his balance refusing to stabilize, Ludwig pulled back from his lover's touch.

Holding his head, the blood flow finally stopping, Ludwig leaned against the back of his seat. Relief flooding through him as the determined soldier drifted in and out of consciousness again. _Feliciano was unharmed; their enemy was dead_. _No one would doubt the boss' abilities now, nor would they question their relationship..._

"Do not vorry, meine Liebe, you vill never lose me. I vill be your soldier until I die."

Part of the nights events returning to him as he faded, as if a partially forgotten dream to which he returned. His sweet, petite Italian had been amazing. _Had his Feli really remained so collected and cool? Had he really heard him say those things to the rival family head?_

A slight smile broke across the serious man's expression as he dropped fully into unconsciousness, one hand still lifted to his love's mahogany hair.

"Ludwig..veh?" Feliciano chewed at his bottom lip still fearing unseen damage, his heart racing beneath his ribs. Finally as the line of cars moved forward, he sped off the bridge and toward home.

Moments later as the don raced his capo toward the safety of his penthouse, Feliciano noticed his brother's bright red convertible as Romano speed down the street, nearly cutting off his younger brother.

Putting his foot to the floor, the petite mafioso scooted up in his strapping capo's seat. With one look to Ludwig who leaned back, eyes closed facing the roof, blood drying at his ear and down his neck, Feliciano sped toward his brother's car.

Whatever Romano was doing out of hiding could wait. Getting the unconscious German to his penthouse was a two person job, and besides what _was_ Romano doing out?

"It's alright, amore...you'll be alright..." Feliciano's words more of a comfort to himself than the man to whom he spoke, the mafioso wiped the tears from his eyes. "Per favore, be alright.."

Finally closing in on his brother, horn blaring, Feliciano finally saw the brake light's red glow as Romano slowed to a stop in front of him.

_{Fenucca - derogatory slang for homosexual.}_

* * *

As Don Vargas rushed to his brother, feet crunching in the snow alongside the road, his strong man unconscious in the passenger seat, the atmosphere was quite different down in the slavic district.

The newly ebony haired Hungarian assassin sat at the blazing hearth with the girls of the Gold Star. Sometime ago the madame had appeared with a certain crooner Elizabeta recognized as working at the Roost. Before she had had time to ponder any connection Ekaterina Braginskaya could have with Ludwig's wayward brother, the statuesque madame had hastened to leave the Frenchman at the door, and looking to the clock as it chimed 7:45, she had whispered quick words of gratitude before insisting he leave. Watchful emerald eyes followed the tall blonde woman as she rushed to her office and then back to the door as none other than the family's inside man, Dr. Kirkland, appeared at the very doorway the crooner had just vacated.

Storing this information for later, Elizabeta stood from the hearth and stretching with a yawn, excused herself from the lobby. Her fatigue, of course a ruse, the assassin instead crept along the long hall that led toward the basement. Her target had just passed through that way, the experienced mafia assassin recognized that this was the most opportune time to end the Belarussian threat for good.

Suddenly as she neared the back doors, Elzabeta saw the petite Belarussian stop.

A resounding knock at the door accompanied by a brash young voice drew both women's attention. Feigning interest in a serving tray of liquer beside the door to the kitchens, the assassin kept one eye open.

Recognizing the young man who entered by his face, but also by the unmistakable absence of his right index finger, the disguised Hungarian knew something had gone wrong with her boss's plan.

Still as a shadow, Elizabeta watched as the Belarussian and the favored nephew of Feliciano's most dangerous rival conversed in voices just out of her hearing. Quietly she crept after them, her footfalls silent on the plush hotel carpet.

As the platinum haired Natalya led the traitorous Lorenzo down the basement stairs, Elizabeta withdrew her weapon hidden in the garter at her thigh and followed close behind.

* * *

_And that has been chapter 19!  
_

_In 20 we'll see how Feli's devoted capo is doing, will Mathew awake? What will transpire at the Gold Star when Elizabeta follows Natalya and Lorenza into the basement? What of Romano – has he been stopped or merely delayed from his confrontation with the man who once occupied his dreams?_

_**As promised here is a little gift for your patience my dear, dear readers:**_

_**I have a fairly extensive little soundtrack for this story, and if you'd like to know the song to a particular scene or a character song, all ya gotta do is ask in your review or send a message and I'll reply with the song! This whole soundtrack will be posted at the end, but I thought it might make a nice little gift for your patience to have a favorited scene or character's now if you're interested.  
**_

_Also, as I'm working hard on my thesis I have to be honest with myself and you lovely readers. The next update may take, no, will take a while. HOWEVER, I won't leave ya hangin' dolls!_

_I'll be occasionally writing little snippets of what happens between chapter 19 and 20; these will be posted on my tumblr as well as on my deviant art profile. I'm not sure if I can do a 'read more' sort of thing on DA, but I'll at least post a link to the proper tumblr post in my DA journal. Links to both can be found on my profile here. _

_I really hope yous guys enjoyed the chapter and that it perhaps made up for the wait?_

_As always, I have only experience with the Russian language and moderate experience with German, so all the others, I beg your forgiveness if I mess up as I do my best to look Italian and French phrases up online. If I do make a mistake, don't hesitate to correct me. _

_Fenucca is a new one to me, so I thought I'd share what I found on this quite rude slang._

_Fenucca - southern Italian. Synonymous with "Gay", "Fag", often pronounced "Fenook" and based on the Italian word for Fennel (Finocchio) which can also be used in context to mean homosexual. Supposedly, the use of "finocchio" for "gay" has roots in the middle ages, homosexuals were burned at the stake and fennel seeds were sprinkled on the embers to help cover the stench._

_Yeesh._

_Well anyway my darlings, I do hope you enjoyed the chapter! Though the next chapter will take a while to appear, know that I'll never abandon this story (or any of my others) and I do so love to read your reviews!_

_So, please, pazjaloosta, per favore, bitte, s'il vous plaît, review my dearest readers? I wait on the edge of my seat with bated breath for your thoughts~_


	20. Chapter 20

It's Just Business Chapter 20

_Hello, all my sweet readers! Thank you for your patience since February! Each and every weekend since the end of May I thought I'd be able to update this – but this has been one very busy summer! Anyway, without further ado, here is chapter 20~ sex, violence, and suspense._

_I hope it makes up for the wait...this is the longest chapter thus far, and in fact, overall. Chapter 21 and 22 will be shorter as each of the plotlines at last converge!_

_Oh, and thank you soooo much to you darlings who sent me new songs, I've been listening almost nonstop to the new editions to my playlist1_

_Alright, I hope you find it as enjoyable to read as it was to write!_

When last we left our story, the capo was badly injured, being raced to safety by his beloved boss. The don's hotheaded brother was on his way to put a permanent end to his infatuation with the man with the crimson eyes, who waited with bated breath and prayer for his sweet scholar to wake. There had been no change since the tiny glimmer of hope the night before. The soviet captain had accepted the asylum offered by the agent who loved him; together, they with the capo's brother had fought off those sent to kill them and were worse the wear for it, but alive. The Ukrainian madame had been escorted home to her hotel-brothel by the French crooner who only just missed the British dealer he had sworn to kill. Inside and unknown to the madame, her sister stepped down into the basement to meet with the enemy of her enemy, followed in silence by the disguised assassin on assignment for the family, and her oldest friend.

But that was all a day ago.

**Near Midday. Tuesday, the Fourth of January. 1921.**

**Basement of the Gold Star**

Dust motes drifted in the pinprick of sunshine. This single shot of light her only focus, Elizaveta shifted on the stone floor. Legs nearly numb with cold, the assassin cursed her pride. Why had she followed her marks into the basement? Was she losing her edge?

The floor cold, her wrists pained where the rope cut into flesh as her shoulders ached from hands tied at her back for too long. The assassin shifted position against the pipe to which she was bound. Legs beneath her once more, Elizaveta sighed. She had simply sought expedience. To be done with the assignment and out of the gold star; the sudden and unexpected opportunity to bump off not one, but two enemies had been a temptation too strong to ignore.

Of course expedience hadn't been her only motivation.

Worry continued to surface in her thoughts; worry that something had gone wrong on Feliciano's end nagged at her mind. No one from Giovanni's house should ever have shown up at the Gold Star.

Closing her eyes and missing the insulating length of hair she'd cut to affect this ineffectual disguise, Elizaveta leaned her head back against the pipe which ran from ceiling into wall...a venting device of some sort, she supposed. The single streak of light now gone from her vision, Elizaveta's mind flashed back to the night before; to how things had gone so wrong so fast.

She'd followed behind as the Belarussian led the rival mobster down the stairs. She'd had the gun ready; she'd had a plan.

A plan that had dissolved spectacularly and instantly.

As soon had she'd gotten past the last door and aimed the gun at Arlovskaya's back, she'd been seen. Never considering there might already be others in the basement had been her downfall.

Elizaveta cursed her irresponsibility. Usually victorious, this failure, with stakes higher than any previous assignment, burned with venomous intensity.

A gasp from the blonde man who had pulled the brunette aside had been all it had taken to give her away. A loud crack had followed the man's gasp as an elbow had connected with the side of her face. Reeling from the hit, she'd felt her weapon taken from her grasp before she could react.

"I like the new look Liz." Lorenzo's voice mocked her in instant recognition as she was forced to the ground.

The sting to her face faded quickly to be replaced by the sensation of the cold stone floor on her knees.

Aiming the assassin's own weapon down at her, Natalya's steel blue eyes flashed as she realized just who she'd had right under her nose. "Mrs. Edelstein." An emotion flitted across Arlovskaya's face, unreadable, it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. The undefined expression replaced by the smallest of smiles, as eyes widened in agitated energy, the doll-faced killer's gaze locked with that of her rival's.

"Your wounds have healed since last we met, da?" Her smile dropped as her voice only rose higher in childlike lightness, "Do not worry," purring now so close to her captive's ear, Natalya continued, the threat dripping from her tongue like melting ice as she sunk her teeth into each syllable, "The next will not."

Returning to the present, the assassin's eyes again found the single light. Guilt at her inability to escape, to complete her mission, still lay leaden and heavy in her heart. Feet that should have stepped over the broken bodies of her enemies, were instead twisted beneath her on the frozen basement floor. Her teeth clenched as the thought of what had happened next swam before her mind, dragging the bound assassin back in shameful memory. Powerlessness was not a state to which she was accustomed.

Though powerless she had been; helpless to aid her dearest friend, she'd instead witnessed the sealing of Feliciano's fate.

Arms forced behind her, she's been tied to the pipe; of course she fought her bonds, but to no avail. The Hungarian assassin had stood, unable to do anything but watch as Arlovskaya took a single photo from the anxious Lithuanian. Watched as the same photo was handed over to the traitorous Lorenzo. She'd been able to do no more than watch as her enemy's eyes widened, his face transformed by the evidence he now held in his grasp.

Clearly, Giovanni had not told his nephew the exact nature of the dirt Natalya Arlovskaya had offered against their boss.

It was at that moment, as Natalya grinned silently behind him, a master to the machinations of her unwitting puppet, that Lorenzo spoke again. Striding forward, confidence evident with each swaggering step, he waved the image before the bound assassin.

"See what sort of men you give your loyalty to?" he went on, his words twisted in a sneer, "Or did you already know?"

In stark black and white, the photograph was shoved in front of her face. Though the falling snow had frozen in the air around them, the image was clear. Elizaveta's heart raced in anxious recognition of her two friends, together, sharing a desperate kiss beside Ludwig's car.

There was no one in the city who wouldn't be able to name the two men in the photo.

Well don't worry Lizzie," Lorenzo continued, a chuckle breaking the silence of the room as he stowed the photograph in a manila envelope. "You're easy on the eyes aren't ya doll? 'And this new black bob suits you fine."

Moss green eyes soon only slits of hatred, the Vargas family's best assassin glared at her enemy as he tilted her chin upward.

"Money down, you won't be unemployed for long." Smirking, the young man went on, seeming to relish the sound of his own voice. "I bet the Gold Star'll have pity on a pretty young widow like you.'

Heart cooling under his words, Elizaveta acted; fueled by disgust, giving not a care to the consequences. Hands tied, relieved of any weapon, she had one recourse.

"Menj a picsába!" Speaking first in her native tongue and then in her husband's, she cursed the usurper before spitting in his face, "du hurensohn!"

A loud crack resounded in the basement amidst Natalya's giggle and the sound of fast footsteps on the back stairs as Toris' arm was pulled by Feliks; the two men making a quick exit now that the work was done.

Tasting her own blood, Elizaveta none the less spit it out again as Lorenzo turned, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand with his left.

The throb from the split lip, already swelling, was nothing to the racing heart in the assassin's chest, the hatred boiling hot in her veins.

"A real bearcat, huh?" words taunting, Lorenzo continued as he moved toward the door. "By now I'm sure my uncle has your boss where he wants him, so how's about you pipe down or you'll get it in the kisser again."

There was no way she was going down without a fight. Elizaveta spit blood again and stood straight as she could against the pipe. Speaking around her swollen lower lip, mouth filling with blood even as she spoke, the hungarian assassin took care with her words. "'take on 'eliciano, oo take on the 'ole 'amily." Chin out, she blew a puff of air to clear the hair from her face. "And lose."

Blackness followed her defiance. She'd woken sometime later, alone, surrounded by darkness. The ringing in her ear, the distortion in her equilibrium told her clearly as the pain, she'd been hit again.

Focusing on the beam of light once more, Elizaveta shimmied up the pole to standing. Footsteps strode across the floor above. From the pattern it seemed someone was pacing, a man. Lighter footfalls joined the pattern...

Arlovskaya...or had her sister the madame returned?

As she strained to hear any words, to divine any clue as to what had happened the night before, the wounded assassin's thoughts ran wild through her mind. Was Feliciano still the boss of bosses? If not, what had happened to Romano, Ludwig,...Roderich? What time was it? How long had she been out?

All she knew was that it was day. The beam of sun, her only constant assurance. Staying in the basement was no option. Elizaveta turned her head from the beam to its source. When all else was pitch black, the light offered the only possibility of a way out. Was it simply a tiny crack in the foundation of the building, or could it be the only clear space on a blacked out window pane? The assassin prayed it was the latter. Even so, she knew escape was a long shot; even if she could find a way to break through whatever opening it was, there was still the fact that she was tethered to a pipe.

Never the less, resignation was simply not a part of her personality. Elizaveta squared her shoulders, scooted around the pipe, closer to the wall. She would try; she had to try.

* * *

_Menj a picsába! - rude dismissal like 'go to hell!' - hungarian_

_du Hurensohn! – you son of a bitch - German_

_bearcat - hot headed gal – American slang_

* * *

While the assassin worked on moving herself closer to what was in fact a crack in the black paint covering the low basement window, the proprietor of the Gold Star was not in her office above, but blocks away, just dressing. The smell of fresh brewed tea drifted throughout the underground apartments. Katyusha breathed deeply of the pleasant scent as she buttoned a last button.

Neither aware of the woman in her basement, nor of her sister's most recent plots with the man who now paced her office, the madame yawned, and turned toward the footsteps approaching from the hall as she finished dressing.

Her stockings in place, Katyusha stood from Arthur's bed and let her knee length skirt fall to cover the lace edges of the slip beneath.

"Leaving so soon, Lovey?" A smile on his lips and two cups of tea in hand, the dealer greeted the madame.

"Mmm," The statuesque Ukrainian returned her British beau's smile as she sat back down and took a sip.

Sitting beside her, Arthur raised a brow, "Earl Grey of course; you approve?"

"Da" Blue eyes softened as they looked into green. "It is delicious, Arthur."

The saucer held in his lap, Doctor Kirkland brought the cup to his lips again. Socked toes moved along Katyusha's leg as they sat on the edge of the bed. Delighted by the blush and smile which appeared at his touch, the Brit edged closer to his Ukrainian dame. "You know, I've only got the one errand to run today. 'Meeting with a new supplier from the orient, you see." He took another sip.

"'Should be a doddle; afterwards I could triple my profit." Emerald eyes twinkling beneath expressive brows, the dealer went on, "But my meeting isn't for another few hours."

"Arthur, that is wonderful." Finishing her tea, Katyusha stood again, her gaze moving across the covers, still unmade from the night before. "But I have left the Gold Star in my sister's hands too long. She is...unpredictable."

"Yes." Arthur stood, placing his tea on a nearby dresser. "I remember." The Englishman needed no reminding of just how tumultuous Natalya could be. "Then I'll see you tonight, Ekaterina."

Arms encircling the taller woman's waist, Arthur swiveled, twirling the madame to a sitting position on the bed once more. Katyusha's giggles were silenced in a kiss she returned with abandon, fingers running through unruly blonde hair. It was tempting and easy to forget the dangerous lives they each lived, on the other side of the law, wedded to the darkest needs of their city; it was tempting to stay entwined forever. The madame forgetting her unbalanced sister who challenged the mafia, that her brother had forbidden this romance; the dealer forgetting the deadly associates he planned even now to double cross, the fact that he worked against his lady-love's family, that each day his enemies seemed to grow in number.

Regardless how much they each wanted to ignore their pursuant troubles, it was all in vain. Thoughts that begged to stay buried in the kiss they shared never the less forced the couple's focus to return to the world outside.

Knowing she had been unable to tell her brother about Natalya's continued presence in the city, Katyusha wondered how she would gather the courage to make the crucial move against her terrifying little sister again. Was it too much to hope Natalya would give up her ambitions, stop trying to build an organized crime syndicate now that she knew she could no longer win Ivan's affections?

And Ivan...

She longed to see her brother; to check on his health, as well as that of the agent and his brother... though the more she was around them the less safe she would feel. Agent Jones was a law man afterall, and not one she could placate easily as his fellows. She still felt responsible for aiding her sister in Jones and Williams' abduction, but to visit the young professor in the hospital meant to be near the wanted brother of Don Vargas' top man. It was madness. Of course, she wanted to be near her brother and therefore the company he kept; these long years without knowledge of whether Ivan was even alive or dead had been unbearable, but how long could she hope to keep Arthur and her brother apart? Ivan had made his opinion of her beau very clear.

As for the dealer, while his tongue danced playfully with his lady-love's, he fought the little voice inside which told him she would learn the truth eventually. She'd learn with whom he dealt, the alliance he'd made against her sister, with the men who wanted to see not one, but both her siblings six feet under. Arthur fought his conscience, finally winning the inner battle with a tremulous rationalisation. Katyusha was being held back and terrorized by Natalya. Maybe he didn't like Ivan one bit, but that could be put aside. The quarrel he had was with the Belarussian, the Italians and the feds. Already set against eachother, he had but to nudge them toward destruction. If he could simply get them all in the same place, he and Katyusha would have all the freedom needed to rule the Chicago underground together.

But they had slept late; the time was already past noon. Arthur's thoughts ran ahead, he actually had much to do. The appointment with the man from China was simply the only part of his schedule of which he could speak openly. Simultaneously plotting against and working for the mafia took a lot out of man.

Breaking the kiss slowly, his lips a millimeter from her's, Arthur's words came as a whisper of chivalry. "Permit me walk you home at least, Love." Apart from the enjoyment of her company, the request was also a precaution were any of Vargas' goons to show up. Various made men had appeared to enjoy checking in on him with a rude disregard for properly announcing themselves. He'd not allow the Don or that damn German to use his Katyusha against him again.

Though her heart stirred at the offer, the Madame gave in instead to her tempestuous thoughts. Blue eyes breaking from emerald, Katyusha sighed. "Nyet." Her fingers moved slowly along the collar of his shirt as she pulled away, hesitance palpable in each move.

Thoughts raced in her mind as she shook her head. She needed some time alone to figure out how she could regain the coexistance with Vargas she had lost so completely and to decide what stance she could take between her siblings. Be it in ideology or legality, she always seemed to stand in the middle of two extremes.

"I will be fine; do not worry about me Arthur." The taller woman stood at her full height, as she smiled. "I am a big girl, you know."

Though the Englishman continued to argue with his Slavic sweetheart, when they reached the door, Arthur found himself bidding Katyusha farewell, albeit with reluctance. The madame's assurances still fresh in the dealer's ears, dr. Kirkland turned, and taking the long descent back to his personal rooms, Arthur checked in on the many of his clientele who'd stayed the night in dark rooms of pillows, on mattresses, or leaning listlessly against the wall, vacant smiles painted across vapid expressions.

* * *

_**1:00 in the afternoon.**_

_**Bureau of Investigation **_

_**Agent Jones' office**_

"Yeah, I'm sure it's his." Agent Jones tossed the battered fedora across the table. "Not that it matters."

Combing his fingers through his hair, Alfred's blue eyes cast upward toward the ceiling tiles as the detective continued, "But Agent Jones, if we can place Vargas at the scene we can-"

"We can what?" Alfred sighed as he turned, and knew his frustration was beginning to show. In a hurry to get through the evidence from last night's massacre uptown in order to return to the hospital and his brother, the agent checked his response and tried to focus on the work at hand.

He hadn't left Mathew's side in weeks; the idea that something could happen nagged at him, wriggling uncomfortably in his stomach, compelling him to return as soon as possible.

Though Ivan and Gilbert had promised to call the moment anything happened, and were watching Matt for any further signs of waking, Alfred was unable to shake the feeling that without him anything could happen; he had to be there. What if instead of waking, Mathew only got worse? What if Vargas sent more assassins? What if there had been more cheka operatives, just hiding and waiting to strike again?

These thoughts ran through the agent's mind like wild fire in a single instant. Brought back to the present as he turned in his pacing, Alfred again faced the officer who had called him in.

"We can what?" Alfred repeated. "Arrest him?" One brow arched as, reaching across the desk, he picked up the hat again, "Charge him with the murders of dozens of his fellow lowlifes?"

Fingering the hole that could only have been made by a bullet, the weary blonde went on, "When not a soul in the neighborhood'll talk, and even if we brought him in, fingerprinting won't hold up as our only evidence, and even if we got one, Marston's lie-detection machine, while promising, isn't official…"

Removing his glasses, Alfred dropped the hat on the desk once more; the softness of the fedora landing on the wood belied the heaviness in the federal agent's heart. Wiping his lenses on the lapel of his jacket, Alfred again turned to the cop who'd brought in the don's hat. "We both know he was there. But unless we get a witness, we've got nothing."

The agent turned his attention next to the shell casings, which he knew would be of no use, since all Vargas' guns were custom. Then to the other evidence, photographs showing bodies which trailed outside, telling the story of the battle as clearly as bread crumbs, blood splattered snow in the alley, and the prints in the snow indicating a larger man leaning on a smaller one, all placing both Vargas and his muscle, Beilschmidt at the scene…and seeming to say the capo had been injured. All this, Alfred knew, not enough for a conviction.

Raking a hand through his hair, the agent sighed.

* * *

As the feds analyzed the evidence downtown, the mafioso stood at the phone in his penthouse office. It had been a long night; Feliciano's eyes were heavy, his stomach empty.

"Kiku, veh...don't blame yourself."

Sighing, the slight Italian leaned against his desk, looking to the sky out the window; so high up, so far from the ground and the troubles below. He envied the clouds.

He used to love to paint them, the clouds drifting so high. But a boss didn't have time for things like that anymore.

He really didn't blame Kiku for the complete and total catastrophe at the hospital the day before. It seemed instead a curse had been laid upon them. Nothing had been going right.

Feliciano's thoughts drifted with the clouds as he gave only half his attention to Kiku's voice on the line. At least Ludwig was ok. He was sleeping…finally, after the doctor had left and given Feliciano the go ahead to allow the concussed German to rest .

It had been a long night.

Feliciano sighed again. All night he'd worried about Ludwig, who seemed half there, half not, unable to focus. Memories jumbled in a daze as the tall blonde had one moment known he was in Chicago, the next it was the Great War all over again, and he was telling Feliciano to get out of the battle.

Ludwig had asked also about his brother, but when Feliciano began to answer, his German love would continue, and it soon became clear the man about whom he asked was still running a club in Berlin, worrying about his little brother the soldier.

The doctor had warned of things like this and said they were to be expected of a concussion, but still, Feliciano worried.

Once his capo had fallen asleep, the Don had spent much of the early hours of the morning on the phone, talking to the other families. Feliciano knew to act fast; a meeting had to be called. As luck would have it, there appeared to be no challenge; the three remaining family heads had been quick to accept his reasoning for why Giovanni had to be taken care of. A simple story of too much ambition, not enough loyalty. It wasn't a new narrative. All men in his position had to deal with attempted usurpers.

Don Vargas could tolerate no dissent.

The sound of slow breathing drifted from the bedroom and Feliciano turned toward the open door. The longing to shed that part of his persona and simply lay beside his lover, leaving all responsibilities for later was a physical need, one that couldn't be ignored.

Eyes drawn to the bedroom door, Feliciano turned from the window. Distracted, he prepared to say goodbye to his friend on the other line.

"Kiku-"

But no 'goodbye' followed, as Feliciano's words were interrupted by a resounding banging at the door.

The sound was sudden, arresting his thoughts and muffling the words of his friend on the other line as Kiku continued to vow to amend his failure.

Without warning the door burst inward.

Quick to draw his weapon, Feliciano reacting instantly, his pistol trained on the intruders.

The sight greeting him however, proved there was no need for firepower.

Talking rapidly to one another, and looking a complete mess, his brother and Roderich stomped through the living area.

The phone receiver still to his ear, Feliciano returned the gun to its holster hanging against his vest.

"Kiku - stop it, veh, stop it. It's alright, ok?" Feliciano held up his hand, momentarily bringing silence to the room. "Romano and Roderich are here, I've got to go." He smiled, closing his eyes. "Why don't you come for dinner later - Ludwig is here. Pick up some potatoes and wursts, and that sour cabbage thing, alright? And some linguini - you know what I like - just get some things, we'll eat in and talk about old times."

The tap-tap of Romano's shoe on the floor beat a slow rhythm alongside the faster melody of Roderich's fingertips on the brim of the hat held in his grasp.

"Si, addio Kiku."

Bracing himself for whatever was to come, Feliciano hung up the phone and sat down.

He did not stay seated for long.

All at once, two voices spoke over the other. Roderich's as deadly and cold as frostbite, Romano's working into a crescendo of vengeance.

Violet eyes glinted dark as amethyst as the Austrian spoke. "Elizaveta never contacted me last night, if anything happened to her I swear by all that is holy, I will raze the Gold Star to the ground and put all within six feet under."

Struggling to understand what both men were saying, Feliciano leaned forward across his desk; as soon as he'd understood all that Roderich had said, he turned his attention to his brother, just in time to catch the end of Romano's declaration.

"I'll kill them all! I swear to you fratello, I will-a kill that Belarussian bitch! I shouldn't-a be hiding, I don'-a care what you say - no one can'a lay a finger to our Elizaveta! Jones, that-a fucking Russian, and that-a betraying, back stabbing no good bastardo Gilbert - that-a traitor! They make a mockery of our business, our name, of our famiglia - I will-a show them all they don'a fuck around con i nostri amici!"

The pang of his stomach, forgotten for the moment, Feliciano moved quickly around his desk. He put a hand to Romano's arm and spoke without meeting his brother's eyes. "Calm down fratello."

Accustomed to Romano's usual intensity, it was instead Roderich's appearance that had captured the young boss's attention. Hair mussed, wearing yesterday's clothes, the Austrian looked as though he'd gone the night as sleeplessly as Feliciano had himself.

Old friends of the family, Elizaveta and Roderich had always opened their doors when either of the brothers had needed a place to lay low. In all the years Feliciano had known the man, he had never seen him so disheveled.

"Elizaveta didn't check in?" Feliciano was relieved to hear his voice didn't crack, as he'd feared it would. He had set his dearest friend this task; it was his fault were anything to have happened to her.

The tall brunette straightened from where he had leaned emphatically on the desk. Smoothing his hair, donning his fedora, and adjusting the unusually loose tie, Roderich cleared his throat. "She did not."

Continuing to look anywhere but at the shorter men now both paying rapt attention to his words, the Austrian assassin focused on the wall as he tapped nimble but anxious fingers now along the boss's desk.

"Lorenzo's body was not among the dead."

Violet eyes appearing misty, he blinked and shoving both hands in his pockets, turned toward Feliciano as he continued.

"Giovanni was to meet with Alovskaya. Could he have passed his information to his nephew?"

Mouth suddenly dry, Feliciano was struck by a panicked thought. He had been too preoccupied, how had he missed so obvious a threat?

Roderich went on, each word delivered what each of three were thinking. "If the traitor made it to the Gold Star, he might have recognized Elizaveta."

"And we'll find him and-a take him for-a ride!" Romano interjected hotly, his chin held high. "He should-a heeded our last-a fucking warning!"

Before Feliciano could comment, his brother continued, "I know you say to be cautious - you say I'm too hot headed, but fratello we can-a wait no longer!"

A deep sigh left the boss' chest as he walked into the living room, his brother and Roderich behind him.

"Veh...You're right Romano." Feliciano turned as he reached the front door. "But fratello- you can't risk being seen. You're in Italy, remember; so be careful." The petite mobster held himself together as he now addressed the anxious assassin.

"We don't know enough to make a move just yet, we would risk exposing Elizaveta's cover ourselves if she's only been unable to contact us." Feliciano stopped, leaning against the open door; caramel eyes serious as he went on.

"Pay a visit to the doctor. He's supposed to be my eyes and ears in the Gold Star."

Had something occurred at Braginskaya's establishment, Kirkland should have sent a message. _Should have. _Feliciano had had to remind the brit of his loyalty before, and perhaps the message had not been strong enough.

The boss sighed again lightly at the door, his desire to rest nearly overwhelming, hunger reasserting itself with a growl. Though however strong his need for rest and good food, they were still lessened by the necessity of planning this moment; Feliciano reminded himself of what they faced, and went on, standing straighter in the doorway.

The sound of his love turning in bed was a temptation to the petite mafioso's attention, but the thought of Elizaveta in possible danger kept Feliciano's mind on business.

His words fast and sure, don Vargas went on, "I don't fully trust the dealer, it's hard to tell if he's on the up and up. One minute he's on your side, the next..." The boss's eyes looked steadily into his assassin's as his brother walked past to the hall. "After meeting with Kirkland, I want you to go right away to the Gold Star, see what you can dig up first, if that is where Lorenzo is hiding, if you can contact Elizaveta, and then call me right away, si?"

Fighting a yawn, Feliciano told himself he'd be able to sleep in just a moment, but first, this had to be dealt with. Turning to his brother in the hall, he went on.

Veh... If Lorenzo isn't there, we'll find him. Go together to the Gold Star, if he's there, call; if he's not there, Romano - I want you to find him. Just find him and let me know what he's doing. We don't want to tip our hand and let him know -" The yawn proved resilient, momentarily giving pause to the don's words. "that we know, what he knows. Just watch him, don't let him out of your sight."

Feliciano's light voice dropped with his next words as he looked to his friend and brother, "this time, we teach him a lesson he won't live to forget."

Both men nodded and prepared to leave, Romano brimming with unspent energy, Roderich appearing relieved to be on task - able to focus not only on the silent telephone, but on taking action.

"Don't worry, I'm sure she's alive," Feliciano stood at the door, one hand on his friend's sleeve. "If she weren't, we would've been contacted. Arlovskaya would've wanted to brag about it." The words of comfort were as much for himself as Roderich.

Already iching to act, Romano was a few steps ahead down the hall. "Right, Fratello - besides, we know our Liz can-a handle nearly any situation." He continued walking toward the elevator, his voice carrying back to the two men still in the doorway. "C'mon Roderich, if this is one of-a the few situations she can't handle, that-a bitch Arlovskaya'll see what a strong famiglia Elizaveta has!"

Now steeled in his purpose, Roderich nodded once in agreement to his friend and boss, before turning toward the hall to catch up to Romano, who was now tapping his feet in impatience at the sluggish speed of the elevator, pressing the button repeatedly.

* * *

_con i nostri amici!" - with our friends_

* * *

Leaning on the door as it closed, Feliciano's heart was racing. Gulping down the panic, he closed his eyes.

How could they have missed this? They'd kept Giovanni from his meeting with Arlovskaya, but if Lorenzo was alive, if his uncle had told him to get to the Gold Star, If he had gone...

There were a lot of 'if's' but Giovanni hadn't been stupid. Overly ambitious maybe, but not stupid. His grandpa's words of wisdom once again came to the petite boss as he leaned against the cool wood of the door. Never underestimate your enemies. If you've thought of it, they likely have as well.

It was now nearly two o'clock in the afternoon. More than half a day had passed since the business at Giovanni's. Where was Lorenzo now? Had he gone in his uncle's stead? Did he now have whatever proof the Belarusian had? Was it already too late?

Eyes closed, hand absently grasping the weapon at his side, Feliciano didn't hear the creaking of the bed, nor the footsteps of his love as Ludwig entered the room.

Combing a hand gingerly through disheveled hair, the muscular blonde winced only slightly as he grazed the bruise above his left ear. Fastening his slacks, Ludwig reached for the shirt that lay draped across the nearby sofa.

He'd woken with a jolt at the pounding of the door; disoriented, it had taken a moment to register where he was and what had caused the sudden sound. It had been Feliciano's brother's voice that had finally brought him fully to consciousness.

Something had gone wrong with the plan and now Elizaveta might be in danger.

If he hadn't...If he'd only paid more attention, seen the guy behind him with the batt. If he hadn't been compromised, Feliciano wouldn't have been left alone, their enemy's nephew would not have gotten to Arlovskaya.

Guilt mixed heavily in his stomach with the wave of nausea which had accompanied standing.

"Feli -"

The other man's voice broke through the boss's thoughts. Caramel eyes opening, hand dropping from his sidearm, the slender Italian moved from the door into his taller lover's arms.

"Ludwig! What are you doing out of bed?" Feliciano reached upward even as Ludwig's strong arms encircled his waist. Fingers ran ahead of his mind toward the dark bruise at his capo's temple. " Mio amore, How do you feel?"

A tightening of the German's jaw was the only betrayal of pain as the Italian's fingers gently brushed the raised bruise before trailing along the reddened ear and down his love's neck, fingertips following the way the blood had flowed only the night before.

"Fine, meine Liebe." Ludwig lied, trying to ignore his splintering headache. "I heard vhat happened." The capo pulled his boss and lover closer against his chest. His chin atop Feliciano's head, Ludwig continued, the rhythm of the other man's heart beat against his own thrilling the blood through his veins, causing the organ to pound all the more. This time, it was the German who brushed a hand through his Italian's hair, as with the other hand, he kept his lover close.

"I should go also," Ludwig spoke into Feliciano's hair, wanting nothing more than to lift the smaller man and carry him to the bedroom; the capo's words in contrast to his desires, Ludwig finished his sentence, hoping Feliciano would understand. "With Roderich und Romano, to the Gold Star."

Ignoring the gasp that sounded from below as Feliciano pulled back from his love's broad chest, Ludwig went on, blue eyes focused on caramel brown as the hand that had rested at Feliciano's back now caught the Italian's grip. "Your brother und Roderich are both emotional men. Someone must be there to keep a level head." The sentence went on unspoken in his mind, _if he'd made sure that arschloch hadn't made it away from his uncle's estate alive..._

Still holding onto his German's hand as he steped back further, the don looked at his soldier; his love's words were unbelievable to his ears. Did Ludwig not know how he looked? Was his diligent man unaware the left side of his head was marred by a vicious bruise? Did he not know how much blood Feliciano had cleaned from his ear, neck, and hair as he lay unconscious? The petite mafioso's thoughts raced through his mind, accompanied by images of the night before. Did Ludwig not know how close he'd been to being one more body found in the alley, cold as the snow around him?

Clearly he did not, as Ludwig finally dropped his his hand from Feliciano's and began to slide an arm into the blood speckled sleeve of the shirt he'd worn the previous night.

Arms folded tightly across his chest, chin high, Feliciano faced his love, caramel eyes slit, leaving no room for disagreement, he spoke, every bit the boss. "No"

Stopping at one arm, the capo's shirt hung loose from one shoulder, "Vas?"

"No." Feliciano repeated. Eyes moistening with held back tears, he affected the most stern expression he could. "Nein." Closing the distance between them again, Feliciano pulled the shirt sleeve from his capo's muscular arm.

Holding the garment up for a moment, he gestured to the blood all over the white linen before throwing the sullied shirt to the floor. "This is your blood Ludwig; I watched as it poured from your ear"

Heart jumping to his throat, the slender Italian choked on his words. "I watched you fall to the ground, I...I nearly lost you."

The shirt discarded to the floor, the boss's arms crossed again, rebellious tears now flowing silently; Feliciano fought his emotions to keep his face set, not something he was used to doing when talking to his beloved and loyal man. Caramel eyes focused on blue, blinking past the tears. "Veh," the sigh was a whisper on his lips. "Il mio amore, you are going nowhere."

"Feli -" Ludwig stepped forward. The silent tears rolling down Feliciano's cheeks acted as a jolt to his heart; the capo moved forward to encircle the boss in his arms again. "Don't cry. Bitte.." With one hand Ludwig brushed the tears from the cheek of the most feared man in Chicago as his gaze quickly sought the window and the sky beyond. "Don't cry, Feli."

Finding it necessary to clear his throat, Ludwig continued, his words, strict and unforgiving, turned inward. "I should not have failed you - I should have made sure no one left that house alive." Guilt squirmed serpentine in his stomach as he thought of all that had gone wrong, and all he could have handled better, his thoughts trailing back through time, Ludwig's brow furrowed as he spoke beneath his breath "und das Problem mit mein Bruder..."

Maybe it was the fact that Feliciano hadn't slept, the specter of enemies clouding his thoughts, or the hunger gnawing at his stomach; maybe it was the sight of his indestructible man near mortally wounded and still vowing he hadn't done enough, maybe it was all these things and more that made the Don lose the tentative grip he had held on his emotions.

Finding himself wracked by the sobs he could no longer control, Feliciano leaned into his love's broad chest.

Arms held against Ludwig's chest, Feliciano leaned agaisnt his lover's heart; the rhythmic beating of the organ echoing in his ear as tears dropped onto his love's bare chest, Feliciano could take no more. "Dannazione!" fists clenched, he went on, "You take everything on your shoulders! It's not-a your fault!"

The Italian continued, now looking up to seek the German's eyes, "Look at me!" The petite boss knew his demand would be unexpected, and gratified by the suddenly wide blue eyes turned in his direction, Feliciano went on,"You always do as I ask, you never fail me! You've _never _failed me, Ludwig! I blame nothing but fate and her cruel hands and veh..." Sighing deeply, the boss laid his head back against his capo's chest. "...and maybe my own sins and those of my family..."

Taken aback by Feliciano's words and unsure of how to address the seeming unending loss of control facing them on all sides, Ludwig was still filled with a sense of failure. No matter what Feliciano said, he'd sworn to be by his man's side, to protect him, to kill for him, to keep him safe and in his position. The fact that he had not only failed in these promises, but that his love by its very nature, had complicated Feliciano's life was impossible for Ludwig to ignore. As his beloved Italian spoke in broken words of his mother tongue, Ludwig ran his hands along Feliciano's arms. Determined to fight for him as long as he could walk, breathe and aim a gun, he spoke again.

"But Feliciano-" He began, intending to make good on the promises he'd made to take out anyone and everyone in his lover's way. He'd do it all in one day. He'd bump off Arlovskaya and anyone working with her; he'd put Jones at the bottom of the river where no one would ever find his body...

But Ludwig was interrupted immediately. Unspoken words dying on his tongue, the tall blonde was struck by the serious tone of his slender brunette's voice.

Feliciano had again backed up a pace, the warm grip of his lover's hands still at his arms sending shivers to his heart which beat rapidly as he spoke, solidifying the importance of the words he now said.

"No, don't argue with me!" In a world where his position and life were threatened from without the organization as well as from within, where the complications of family threatened to tear a rift between even he and the man who stood before him, where nothing and no one could be taken for granted, and even what had made him happiest in life, he could never reveal, Feliciano needed Ludwig. He needed this one part of his life to be steady. He'd come too close to losing him, the realization struck like lightening. Ludwig had succeeded at every task, he'd saved Feliciano's life more times than he could count, he'd always been there. Because of this, Feliciano realized, he had been blinded to the truth of mortality when applied to the strong, determined, seemingly indestructible man before him. How could he have let himself forget?

He'd seen this expression before.

The same fatalistic soldier whose blue eyes were now looking mutinous when faced with the order to rest and heal instead of work; this was the expression he'd seen in a time when Ludwig's life had been far from guaranteed.

In a drafty cell in Padua, three years ago, the looming shadow of mortality had been a constant threat, stalking his strong and determined soldier.

Ludwig had looked at him then with the same distraught, determined, self-blaming eyes. Then the german soldier had been hesitant to take what he saw as 'the easy way out' He'd been only too close to refusing the freedom Feliciano offered, knowing full well that if he did, it was the firing squad that awaited him. Ludwig had feared being a traitor if he left with Feliciano, he'd thought it was his duty to stand for all the German military, to die for his nation, even when the sacrifice was pointless.

Would he always see things in such stark conditions? Would he always take on all the responsibilities, always fear failure and take it so hard? Would he never remember the people he hurt when he was willing to treat his life with such reckless abandon...all in the name of duty?

Feliciano had needed him then, in that cell, and he had convinced him somehow...

The silence that had followed the petite mafioso's words now hung between them.

Unsure how to respond, unused to the expression on Feliciano's face nor the tone of his voice, the German waited for his Italian to continue. Ludwig's heart plummeted, cold and heavy. Feliciano's expression was far away, his arms crossed, face red, tired and tear-tracked.

The capo wanted nothing more than to grab his boss, hold him close, and tell him he'd make everything right; he'd kill a thousand men and more if they threatened Feliciano. He'd do anything to make it right, to make up for his failures. He'd known all along that to give in to his emotions was dangerous, known his heart would betray him, known that in this life there were no guarantees, but that of constant danger. All the same, he'd realized he'd lost the ability to think rationally that night in early december when he'd seen Feliciano shot, when he'd held him close and felt how cold the beloved body had gone. After nearly four years of being Feliciano's friend, his soldier, of denying himself the truth of his feelings...he'd finally become his lover and with that change, perhaps he'd sealed both their fates.

While Ludwig dwelled in misery, fatalism, and determination, Feliciano had wracked his memory of that night in the Castillo di Padova. How had he gotten Ludwig to agree? He'd had help from his grandpa, but it had seemed that the dutiful soldier had already been coming around.

Of course. The words flooded back as though they'd just been spoken. _'and I'll never make it alone without you.'_ He had needed him, then, when he had known what he felt for the tall blonde, but never expected Ludwig to feel the same. But he had; he had felt the same, though Ludwig himself had not recognized it then.

Heart racing so fast Feliciano was certain it would beat out of his chest, he stepped back into his diligent capo's embrace. "Ludwig, amore mio...miene Liebe," His words, barely whispers, Feliciano now had a weapon, and he knew how to use it to keep Ludwig home, to keep him safe until he healed, at least for one more night.

Warm caramel eyes wide as he gazed up into those of bright azure, the Don spoke in low, soft tones just above a whisper. "I need you. I need you to heal, to be beside me when I need your strength." It was all true, each word, Feliciano prayed it would do the trick. "I'll never make it alone without you."

More than the words the young mafioso spoke, it was the way the last remnants of tears clung to long, dark lashes, the way Feliciano looked up to Ludwig now, each inch of his face, a testament to the truth in his words, that shot through the German's heart like a bullet, dissolving any determination to leave.

The will to work may have left, but as the capo held his boss close, it was the sense of failure that twisted his heart, sunk heavily in his chest, failure to see that his lover's enemies drew no breath, failure that there was proof in the Belarussian's hands that could undo them completely.

However, this sense of failure wasn't enough, never would be enough to allow him to turn away from the man now pleading with him to stay.

The pain and dizziness in his head was nothing to the clenching throb of his heart. Ludwig's hands dropped from Feliciano's arms to encircle his waist, lifting the slender Italian to bring their lips together, The broad German held his man tight, promising with his lips what he had always promised in words, that he'd always stay, that he could never say no to Feliciano.

When at last they broke for air, Feliciano's feet again finding the floor, Ludwig held his gaze, "Of course Feliciano, I vill stay; vhat I swore to you at Christmas I meant. I am yours, your soldier for all my life, only death vill take me from your side."

Breathing a deep sigh of relief, Feliciano turned, wrapping his arm around his love's strong waist, leaning into Ludwig's side as the taller capo draped an arm around his boss's slender shoulders.

"So...you're going back to bed." Feliciano began to step toward the bedroom, glad he hadn't had to force his lover to relax at gunpoint or remind him just who the boss was, a smile broke across the don's face as he continued, "and I'm coming with you-" A yawn split his sentence at the thought of finally laying beside his hard working, sometimes too dutiful man. "We can at least get some rest before..." Another yawn interrupted his thought, and leaning closer under his man's muscular arm, Feliciano gave it up as a loss.

"Before ve hear from Roderich, ja?" Ludwig finished what he assumed his love intended. The wounded capo helped the exhausted Don into bed before joining him, pulling the slender Italian close under the covers.

"Si...si..." Feliciano felt himself already drifting to sleep, as all his troubles seemed to be able to wait, just for now; he draped an arm across Ludwig's chest, fingers twirling the soft, light hairs that dotted his love's pectorals. "and Kiku is bringing dinner...later."

"Oh, ja?" Ludwig's voice came heavily from above Feliciano's head, signalling how close the capo was to sleep as well.

Hoping his soldier no longer blamed himself, the petite mafioso shifted closer beneath the blanket. He knew Ludwig was comfortable with plans, if his German love could have everything organized and planned he would feel that the world more manageable.

These were Feliciano's thoughts as he finally fell asleep, and hoped his next words would give his tightly wound man a sense of peace - that there was a plan in place.

"Tomorrow," Feliciano spoke, tilting his head back to speak into Ludwig's ear, "Tomorrow we move on the Gold Star. It'll all be over tomorrow..."

Of course, he'd still have the feds to deal with, but at the sound of agreement from his love's throat, and the strong arms that tightened around him, Don Vargas was content to forget about Agent Jones for a few precious hours.

* * *

Dannazione!" – damnit!

* * *

The sun still shone as the mobsters slept in eachother's arms uptown, while downtown the federal agent paced his office.

Nearly an hour had passed and Alfred was anxious to return to his brother and Ivan at the hospital.

Not only that, but the wounds he'd sustained the day before were beginning to ache. He didn't even want to look beneath his coat to see if the gunshot wound at his side was bleeding again, and with each step he took, the one at his hip refused to be forgotten.

He'd been over everything. As he continued to tell the officer as much, and that he appreciated the man's work, but what they really needed was a witness, and at best several witnesses, the sound of heels clicking in a rapid pace came from the hall outside. A quick knock on the frosted glass of his office door was followed without invitation by the turning of the knob. Suddenly, the secretary's anxious face peeked from around the door.

"Sorry Agent Jones, but it's the hospital on the phone - you said to only interrupt you if-"

"Yes?" Alfred stopped in his pacing, breath held. Was it good or bad news - his heart seemed to stop in his chest.

"Sir," She continued, her face breaking into a smile at last, "It's your brother; he's awake."

Without a word, the young federal agent had grabbed his coat and rushed from the room, down the stairs, and out of the building.

As Alfred raced from the bureau and hopped aboard the L, his brother was sitting up in the hospital bed. Mathew had been conscious for nearly an hour; had gone through the nurse's tests. He'd stretched, walked a bit, brushed his teeth. The somewhat shy scholar still blushed that he'd needed help. Legs simply weakened from time spent immobile, he was at once relieved to be sitting up in bed again, and yet anxious to be out, able to take care of himself.

Blinking in the clear winter sunlight which streamed from the window, the young professor's eyes, unaccustomed to the brightness, looked away from the sun to settle on those of crimson.

He'd woken from a long, strange dream, punctuated by distance and the disconnected sounds of the lives of the men who had stood at his bedside.

For how long had they been waiting?

Though time had passed as a dream for him, the days were etched on his wild bartender's face. Eyes weary, bloodshot with lack of sleep; pale wiry hairs traced the jawline and around lips, no longer split in a confident grin, but straightened with serious determination and the weight of many worried nights.

How many?

Blue violet eyes searched those of bright red for a time, silently before finally in the nurse's absence, Mathew was able to look to the man he loved, to take in all of Gilbert's appearance.

Thin gauze wrapping the pale man's neck betrayed the wound beneath where the Japanese assassin's blade had pierced skin.

No sound escaping his lips, the blonde raised a hand to his lover's neck. Fingers trailed along the strip of gauze and down toward the second at the German's shoulder. Much thicker and stained the color of day old blood.

Silently, Mathew's brow creased. Without words, his hand dropped to grasp Gilbert's at his side.

Standing at the window as he had taken to doing, Ivan turned, his bandaged arms crossed, fingertips at the edge of the scarf wrapped around his neck, the Russian smiled softly to the couple. Nodding toward the weary German in particular, the soldier's words cheerful as his smile, "I will give you some time alone." Ivan's smile continued as he strode toward the hall in order to wait for his American love to return.

"Thank..you, Iv-an." Mathew's words came slowly and with much difficulty, as they had when the nurse had prodded him to talk upon waking. Dizzy and disoriented, the scholar had struggled to speak with more ease, frustration building at each pained syllable. He turned toward the man gripping his hand tight; Gilbert's expression a picture of warring emotions as both gratitude and misery fought for dominance.

Never taking his eyes from those of his exhausted man, Mathew squeezed the hand he held, determined to be strong and ease his sweetheart's worries. A shadow of pale stubble covered Gilbert's chin, his eyes ringed in dark shadows; Mathew wondered how long his wild and devoted man had been at his bedside. How much of the half formed memories were dreams; how many had been reality?

Had Gilbert really been there beside him all the time?

Memories tumbled through his mind, hazy, distorted, unrestrained by time.

The fingers of Mathew's free hand ran along the bandage still wrapping his forehead in gauze. "Gil...h-how...long?"

Chest tightening as did the grip on Mathew's hand, Gilbert felt keenly the pain evident in each syllable of his beloved Canadian's question. He noted the way Mathew's brows knit together in concern, the way gorgeous pools of deepest blue blinked in the sun without his glasses.

"Nine days, meine Liebe."

Crimson eyes stung with held back tears; Gilbert found it impossible to look away. He'd gone so long without seeing the beloved eyes open. It seemed so much longer than nine days. Thinking never again would he hear his lover's voice. Though stilted, his Mathew's words fell on his ears as a blessing, an answer to his desperate prayers. He had said he'd give up anything and everything to have his angel back; silently, Gilbert swore he would keep the promises he'd made. Come what may.

Gripping Mathew's hand as a crease again formed in the young professor's brow, Gilbert leaned forward, wanting nothing more than to dissolve the pain from the other man's mind and punish the one responsible for causing it. Crimson eyes never strayed from their focus, as raising a hand to cup his frustrated love's cheek, whispered German words tumbled from the pale bartender's tongue.

"Gott dich vom Tode gebracht; werde ich nie vergessen. Ich liebe dich von ganzem Herzen. Ich werde nie erlaube du wieder verletzt zu werden. Nie, nie, nie."

Able to understand, but finding a response elusive, Mathew simply let the words sink in as his hand moved from the bandage around his forehead to cover Gilbert's at his cheek. Leaning into the caress, the scholar focused on the time he'd lost...nine days. He'd been unconscious for nine days. Images flashed through his memory. An Italian, Don Vargas' brother...he'd stood, a gun aimed at Alfred. Bright multi colored lights sparkled against the wall from the tree that had fallen. Walls and furniture ripped by the spray of bullets. Vaguely, he remembered running to push his brother out of the way. After that...nothing.

Until, unable to see, to move, to feel, he had been finally able to hear. He'd heard the cadence of pacing feet; always a tempo to the backdrop.

They had been his brother's feet.

As though through a tunnel, as though just under water, out of range, he'd heard the words spoken between the men who stayed at his bedside. They had come in bits and pieces, as though a dream, words floating to the surface of his mind. Words in English, German, and had there really been a voice in French?

Above all the half remembered voices, one had been most constant.

The distant, desperate, guilt ridden prayers of the man he loved. Gaze only breaking to travel down to the hand that held his own, Mathew moved his fingers along Gilbert's arm, finally pulling the other man until the German leaned into the Canadian's shoulder. Silently, the two sat, as memories of not only prayers, but also, whispers in German of promises made, places they would go, that Gilbert would never leave his side again ran through Mathew's mind.

It was clear Gilbert had been true to those promises. He had sat beside him each day and night. The German's voice, still an echo in the Canadian's memory had been tormented by guilt; a guilt lingering still, etched on his love's face.

Time ran without direction in his memory, but Mathew knew, as he lay cut off from their world, he had heard many of his lover's words and many of his brother's footsteps before he'd heard suddenly, the bang of a door followed by voices yelling in languages he didn't know. A cacophony of bullets next shot through the room, in a deluge of confusing sounds. The battle had jarred him to the closest semblance of consciousness. Enough to hear a woman, a voice he remembered only vaguely but couldn't name, a woman telling him, how loved he was, what Alfred, Ivan and Gilbert had done.

Mathew ran his free hand through snow white locks of tousled hair as Gilbert leaned on his shoulder; the rhythm of the German's breath soothing the wounded Canadian's thoughts.

"D..anke," Mathew began, the fingers entwined with his own drawing his attention. "I h-heard you" He paused, determined to get out his words "….the whole t-time."

"Ja?" red rimmed crimson eyes widened as he sat straight, faces now mere inches apart, the tears that threatened the passionate German came much closer to spilling over.

"...Ja…" Mathew pushed his mind to think of the next words he needed. "You...were" The elusive word hid from his recognition, "my..." Damn, why wasn't the word there, he felt it on the tip of his tongue! Head beginning to swim in a wave of dizziness at the increase in frustration, Mathew brushed his hand along the bandage once more, smoothing hair from his face, as Gilbert waited patiently, his gaze both pained and grateful at each word.

"My..." Trying again, determination clear in his voice, Mathew at last found the word for which he'd been searching. "C...constant."

The little ball that was Gilbird fluttered from where he had rested on Mathew's knee as it was drawn up, the Canadian shifting to sit up fully, drawn into the German's embrace.

Settling at the foot of the bed atop the stuffed polar bear, the chick preened his feathers as neither man paid him any attention.

Pale hands moved gingerly through blonde waves, as Gilbert's kisses were soft against Mathew's face and neck. Exuberance held just in check, the German kept his kisses light and careful, afraid to push too hard, to hold too tightly. Tears clinging to white lashes, crimson eyes closed as lips met, opening to grant the other access, after so long apart, tongues greeted one another in the intimate embrace echoed by their hands.

The flavor of clean mint was still strong on Mathew's breath; a leftover from recent brushing. Gilbert deepened the kiss, prodding past the mint to simply taste all he could of Mathew.

Never aspiring to his brother's stoicism, the tears ran free at last from tightly eyes; they ran down pale cheeks into the kiss, to mingle with the flavor of the coffee that had kept Gilbert awake these past nights.

The rich coffee tinged taste of his faithful lover's kiss now amplified with the salt of tears caused Mathew's heart to race, his blood running fast throughout his veins. As he returned Gilbert's kiss with equal passion, the idea was dizzying that he might never have felt this way again, never be held so close, never kissed with such passion.

Had he never woken, he would've waited an eternity for the other man to meet him.

The thought that a month ago he'd not known the love that now so fully encompassed him was alien. The life he had lived, careful, studious, predictable, secure, was a mere shadow, a prelude only to the fullness of life Mathew now felt rushing in his veins. Their pasts were nothing of consequence, their futures anything but planned, the present was all that mattered for both men now.

A present they had nearly lost and would never again take for granted.

Tears still flowing hot and uncontrolled, Gilbert broke the kiss for only a moment, still peppering Mathew with soft pecks, the bartender spoke quickly, his heart beating in equal rapidity to his scholarly lover's.

"Matt, I couldn't go on...Gott, Ich hätte...nie... expected," words jumbled together and lost all coherence as they slid in and out of German and English, "diese Liebe..." Head dropping to Mathew's shoulder, now bared by the pull of the hospital gown, Gilbert continued, "mein Herz kann nicht..." A sob escaped the once over confident man's throat, "..wenn ich dich verloren."

As Gilbert continued, his words rapidly losing all meaning, Mathew's mind worked overtime to take each sound and make sense of it. Frustration peaked with each difficulty he encountered as the professor held his despondant bartender close. Understanding that Gilbert had always been too close to too few people in his life, their fates always hooking his happiness to theirs, Mathew at once felt both the warm rush that true love in it's loyal depth brings, but also the cool pang of knowledge that just as losing his brother in the war would've thrown Gilbert past the brink of sanity, so too would've losing his love now. Had Mathew never woken, what would his tormented man have done? The answer was so clear there was no need to speak it.

This responsibility dropped like lead through Mathew's heart. One arm around his German's back, the Canadian ran the other through pale tangled hair.

"Ich...Ich bin...hier, mon am-" No, that wasn't what he was trying to say, the words twisted in Mathew's mind, but righting themselves at last, he was confident in his speech. Trying hard to put his words together with more finesse, Mathew pushed the words out again, blue violet eyes locked onto crimson. "Ich bin hier,.. meine Liebe."

Mathew's words were a catalyst to Gilbert's tortured emotions, pulling at his heart. Standing quickly, the bartender rested both hands on the scholar's shoulders.

"Ja, aber du wäre fast gestorben, es war meine Schuld! Ich hätte dort sein sollen!" The pale German raised a hand to the bandage still wrapping his innocent Canadian's forehead. "This never should have happened to you, I should never have left, you never asked for any of this. You almost died.." Choking on his words slightly, Gilbert rushed on, "Und your vords - I thought I vould never hear...your voice..."

"Gil.." Mathew interrupted, determined not to let his love dwell in thoughts of what might have been. "I...will...get better." Ignoring the pain and dizziness swimming in his head, the Canadian pulled the German's face once again to his. Lips tasting eachother's familiar sensation again, Mathew once more ran his fingers through Gilbert's mess of white hair. Savoring each sensation, the leaping of his heart, the touch of warm hands at his back, the feel of the other man's hair, the way Gilbert's kiss held his own; with each move, sigh, and hum, the wounded scholar felt more and more alive.

Breaking their kiss after a few blissful minutes, Mathew tugged on a random tangled lock, "You...need a...comb, Gil." Smiling broadly as watery red eyes widened in surprise, the blonde laughed, his singular curl dropping across his face.

Mathew's laughter triggered Gilbert's whose own hands rushed through his hair bringing the tangled locks to stand straight up, "Oh Ja, how's zhis?

Laughter echoed out into the hall as Gilbert continued to arrange his hair into bizarre shapes; smoothing it straight back only to have Mathew vehemently shake his head, giggles much easier to express than words.

It was as the two laughed, Gilbird perched now on pale hair, that the door burst inward, swinging wildly. But no enemies ran in with guns blazing, this time it was agent Jones who ran to his brother's bedside. Knees hitting the tile floor, Alfred threw himself onto his twin's bedside, face buried in his arms, Allfred's words, loudly cried into the thin hospital blanket.

"Matt! Oh Mattie! I'm sorry I wasn't here!" Alfred rushed on, snow dripping from his coat as tears welled in his eyes. "Damn train takes forever! Matt! I knew you'd be ok - how are you? Oh god, don't answer! You should rest! Oh man, Matt - I'm so sorry!" The agent removed his glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes as his words flowed on, sentences running together.

Opening his mouth to stop his brother, Mathew quickly realized it was a useless endeaver. There was no stopping Alfred as he continued on in a rapid stream of conflicted sentences.

The American agent was hardly aware of his brother's attempted response, nor the feel of his Russian lover's hand resting on his shaking shoulder.

"I'm so sorry! What were you thinking? Why'd ya get in front of me? I'm the one trained to deal with - Oh hell Matt! I shoulda got to him first, I shoulda done my job right! Oh why did you even come visit me, it's too dangerous here! Mattie, I woulda been lost without you! Oh my God, Maattt, I'm so sorry." The federal agent who had been so serious, so professional not an hour ago at his office now collapsed into his brother's lap, sobbing in relief.

Unsure what to say, how to console his brother, Mathew simply patted him on the head.

Gilbert, now settled with his little chick still happily nesting atop his tangled locks, held Mathew's other hand, looking understandably to the American agent.

"Kidnapped...my fault, trying to get to me," Alfred mumbled to the bedspread, face thoroughly planted in the blanket covering his brother. "Kidnapped again...beaten...shot.. my fault."

All was silent but for Alfred's muffled words which turned rapidly into incoherent nonsense until, laughing robustly, Gilbert interrupted, drying his previously teary eyes with the back of his wrist. "Oh mein Gott- Is that vhat I sounded like?!"

"Da." Ivan answered from where he stood behind Alfred. "Mathew is a hero. We each owe him a life-debt." The broad shouldered Russian strained as he bent to lift his distraught American to his feet.

Alfred scrambled to his feel, turning a worried admonition to the taller man. "Vanya - don't. Your arms."

Choosing to not ask to see beneath his man's jacket, as Ivan knew Alfred was hardly one to talk of taking care of his injuries, Ivan instead leaned in, whispering his words into the other's ear as one large hand found the small of the agent's back.

"Alfred, moi derogoi, your brother wants to speak."

"Oh," the American looked to the Russian before clearing his throat, he pulled a chair closer to the bed.

Allowing his brother the time to speak, Alfred was at first heartbroken to see the eloquent scholar reduced to such halting speech, but as time passed and Mathew's words proved that his vocabulary hadn't suffered, only the delivery, Alfred's optimism was bolstered. Surely his brother would recover fully in time.

Mathew, of course, had many more questions for the men who crowded around his bedside so attentively. Gratitude welled in his heart as Alfred, Gilbert and Ivan retold the battle of the night before.

"It is nothing Alfred, really." Ivan shrugged off the bullet and knife wounds as would a man who had seen six years of warfare. "I have had many wounds."

Laughing, Alfred laid a hand to his love's thigh, as Ivan drew a third chair close and sat around the bedside. "Come on baby, you were amazing, and I've never seen someone take such punishment!" Alfred laughed again, "And I dunno what you said to those guys, but I know it was bad!"

Ivan made no attempt to hide his pleasure at his Americans appreciation. The Russian soldier would never forget how he'd met the American, the man who had stood from a wreck that would've killed anyone else. "And you, moi lyoubov, you were shot and never missed a step."

Alfred smiled wide as Ivan recounted how he'd come to his aid, running through enemies with single minded focus. The agent grinned, suddenly a boy simply showing off his battle wounds to his brother, Alfred shrugged off his suit jacket to lift his shirt, boldly displayed his bandages, even now showing specks of blood, with an irreverent "I didn't even feel it, Mattie!"

Nodding to his brother, Mathew's heart swelled. He could have woken to be less one brother, friend, or lover, and yet somehow they were each here beside him. Ivan and Alfred went on, describing the battle in great detail. All the while the young professor's arm had wrapped around his lover's shoulders, fingers tentatively rubbing the bandage over the deep cut left by the japanese assassin's sword.

As Alfred extolled the virtues of his soviet soldier's sister who had "aimed that pistol like a pro", beside him, Ivan's small smile grew. Unnoticed by his brother or Ivan, Mathew leaned his head against Gilbert's unwounded shoulder, and listening to his German love chim in, and with great relish, tell of his victory at the elevator, Mathew allowed himself to drift to a natural, happy sleep.

The last words the professor heard as he fell asleep were those of proud warriors.

"'Thought I vould be persuaded to leave-" Gilbert's words were dark as he recounted the exchange between he and his brother's yakuza friend.

"But you weren't were ya?" Alfred laughed "We all saw you crack the wall with his head! That punch was the genuine article - a real whopper!"

Though this short visit to his brother had nearly cost him his life not once, but several times, what he had gained far outweighed what he had nearly lost. The thought ran through Mathew's mind as he smiled softly, breathing in the scent of the man he loved.

As the professor slept, the federal agent, the once bolshevik captain, and the capo's brother continued to laugh and talked in jovial tones, at last freed even temporarily from the oppressive worry that had hung as a cloud over them for so long. Though all three men felt responsibility for Matthew's state, they could now distract one another in tales of heroism as they recounted the battle, each describing the feats of the others. How Ivan had taken out so many, and when cornered had shown no fear of death, how Alfred had raced across the room, firing his gun, paying no heed to the bullets that cut through his own skin, how Gilbert had valiantly shielded his unconscious man from the assassin's sword.

* * *

_Gott dich vom Tode gebracht; werde ich nie vergessen. Ich liebe dich von ganzem Herzen. Ich werde nie erlaube du wieder verletzt zu werden. Nie, nie, nie. – __God __brought you__from death__, I will __never__forget__. __I love__you with all my__heart__. __I will__never__allow__you__to__be__hurt again.__Never,__never__, never. __"_

_Gott, Ich hätte...nie [expected] diese Liebe... - __God__, __I__never__would have__... this love…_

_mein Herz kann nicht... – My heart cannot…_

_wenn ich dich verloren. - If I lost you._

_Ich bin hier,.. meine Liebe. – I'm here my love._

_Ja, aber du wäre fast gestorben, es war meine Schuld! Ich hätte dort sein sollen! – Yes, but you were nearly killed, it was my fault! I should have been there!_

* * *

The atmosphere at the hospital was indeed jovial for once in the nine days that had seemed an eternity of misery and suspense. However, only blocks away, in an alley lined in blackened snow, stood three men, none of whom showed even the hint of a smile.

Romano stepped closer to the blonde, "You remember, Doctor, who it is you work for, si?" Dark hazel brown eyes glared into emerald as behind the british dealer, Roderich leaned against the wall.

There was no escape from the alley, and Arthur knew his Italian associate was aware that he knew this. Were he to step back, he'd only bump into the taller Austrian behind him, were he to step forward, he would have to pass the Don's short tempered brother.

"Yeah, you know, your brother makes it hard to forget." The Englishman answered cooly, stepping to the side only to see the brunette mirroring his movements.

"Hm. Right," The blonde straightened the cap he wore low, now anxious to be on his way. "I have my own business to conduct, so unless you'd like to buy something Mr. Vargas, I really must excuse myself."

The Italian's lips forming a scowl, as his eyes slit in piercing hazel, the Don's brother stepped ever closer to the British opiate peddler. "Just-a know, you're supposed to be our eyes and ears at the Gold Star; our arrangement only works if-a you give us information." Arthur's heart grew cold as his grip tightened on the handle of the black medical bag hanging at his side. The Austrian had moved forward, laying a hand to Arthur's left shoulder. He was now trapped uncomfortably between the two other men.

"You are sure you were not there last night?" The Austrian's voice was low, and was that a tinge of panic in his tone...

Shrugging the hand from his shoulder, the Brit's voice reflected the cold lead in his heart. What really, had he gotten himself into? He'd been doing well enough without making a deal with the devil.

"Sure, I'm sure." turning in the miniscule space between the two men, the dealer made eye contact with both as he spoke. "Regardless of my reputation, I don't live at the whorehouse, and as I said before, I do have my own business to conduct, so if you gents would be so kind..."

Finally finding he had room to breathe, the alleyway opening as the two made men gave him space at last, Kirkland doffed his hat toward them both. "Thank you ever so much," His voice dripped in sarcasm as he made his way backwards from the alley, "Signore Vargas, Herr Edelstein."

No sooner had he turned around to the street than he saw two cars parked at the mouth of the alley, innocently enough from the streetside, he understood the true intention immediately.

"Doctor Kirkland." It was the Austrian first who strode past to his own car and the unsmiling men, their guns drawn, who waited in the back for his direction.

Romano lingered at his side. "My family is a large one. We have eyes everywhere. Conduct your business, then-a see that you spend-a the night at the Gold Star. You will-a report everything back to my fratello, si?"

Shoulder to shoulder with the British dealer, the eldest son of the Vargas family winked with a disconcerting smile as the doctor nodded in sullen agreement. "Don't be so down, Kirkland." Romano strode past with purpose as he called behind him, "It just might-a be the last night we need you there. I'll be in touch."

Car doors slammed shut as engines roared into life. The mafia drove from the alley leaving the dealer alone but for his thoughts.

The hot headed Italian's words circled in the Englishman's mind. Shrewdly he took them apart, dissecting them as he would a cadaver. _This might be the last night we need you there._ Apparently he and Kat should have stayed at her place last night; something big must have gone down.

If Romano's words were the indication Arthur took them for, he had much to do tonight.

The fantasy rose again in his mind. The Italian mafia against the Belarussian's mob. In one place. All he had to do was nudge them toward mutual destruction…all the city's most wanted criminals in one place.

Holding the cap close against the howling wind that struck as his feet stepped from the alley onto the street, Doctor Kirkland's thoughts formed a list in his mind. First, this business with the gentleman from the Orient, then to the Gold Star, dependent on what he found in his lady's hotel, he would then decide what to do. Whether he would have one or two phone calls to make.

Turning along the side street and stepping into another alley, this one older and twisted, the snow hidden by shadow, the doctor smirked as he strode, a spring in his gait. No longer would he be a lackey for the Vargas brothers.

He worked only for himself.

Disappearing into the darkness at the end of the alley, the British dealer's smirk turned serious. Reaching a hand into the shadow, he spoke.

"Yao Wang, your reputation is well known."

* * *

As the Englishman worked in the shadows, the Italian stood in the sunlit snow, now a few city blocks from where they had met. Romano faced the Gold Star as he motioned for the Austrian assassin.

At Romano's signal, the older man stepped from the car across the road. With a wave of his hand, he told the other men in the car to wait. They would leave nothing to chance.

Silently the two made men moved behind the hotel; backs to the wall, they edged toward a low window. Romano first, Roderich beside him, they crouched beneath the sill, listening close to the voices drifting out from behind the glass.

Voices floated on the wind, distorted and muffled by the window's barrier.

Two voices. A man and a woman.

No...

Three. There were two women, distinct voices carrying through the glass.

Roderich knelt, careful that his boots were all the snow touched. Lapels of his black wool coat turned up to block the wind, he moved closer to his companion beneath the window sill as a feminine voice raised in panicked crescendo.

"N-nata - what are you doing?!" Katyusha's question followed the unmistakable slam of a door. "Who is this girl in my basement?," the words rushed together as she continued, her voice raising as the clicks of her heels carried her further into the room. 'and who are you?!"

Violet eyes lit with flame as the Austrian edged ever closer. _So, Elizaveta was in the the basement._

Seeming to choose a side, the wind settled. The voices grew much clearer as they grew much louder from inside the Gold Star.

"She is my prisoner, Ekaterina." The first woman's voice drifted as footfalls indicated she walked across the room, away from the window.

Romano leaned in with an unnecessary whisper, "The belarussian."

"And I-" The man's voice spoke up, before instantly being curtailed by Arlovskaya.

"This is my new friend…Lorenzo." The woman had moved back toward the window, her voice clearer. "Sestra, be kind, he will be the next boss of bosses."

A gasp followed the words. The clicks of Madame Braginskaya's heels increased as she sped toward her sister. "Sestra, pozhaluĭsta, ty skazali ty ostanovitʹsya!"

The younger sister answered the older in their mother tongue as the Austrian and Italian shared a quizzical look outside the window.

"Tishe, Yekaterina!"

Sharp words in Russian contrasted with the smoothness in Arlovskaya's tone as she switched into English, sounding as though she stood arm in arm with the traitorous Lorenzo.

"You see, there is no need to fear Vargas, my sister."

Natalya went on, as outside Roderich left Romano under the window. Crouching low, he moved along the wall slowly toward what looked like a low basement window. Violet eyes squinting as the wind increased; the Austrian assassin adjusted his glasses against the drifts of snow picked up in the gust of wind.

The elder Vargas brother's expression was grave, hazel brown eyes burnt with rage as Arlovskaya's words continued.

"Feliciano Vargas' time is over, and this," There was a sound of something being pulled from an envelope accompanied by a deep masculine chuckle. "will asure-"

But what exactly her evidence would asure was lost as a loud crash resounded in the alley behind the building. Roderich stood abruptly and began running toward the source of the sound as Romano turned from the window.

A woman's boot stuck through broken shards of dirt-black glass. The Italian ran from his post beneath the window as his taller companion dropped to his knees in the snow, Roderich's earlier trepidation to dirty his coat forgotten, Mr. Edelstein stooped low to pull his Mrs. from her dank captivity.

The sounds of escape had not gone unnoticed by those inside the Gold Star. As the husband reached to free his wife's wrists, Elizaveta twisting toward the opening she'd created, the back door swung from its hinges and shots rang out through the alley.

Shielding his friends, Romano fired back meeting the bullets that flew in their direction.

"Nyet! You live!" Natalya screeched as she pushed her pawn toward her sister. Lorenzo struggled, still pulling his gun from its holster, as Katyusha, striken and wide eyed, pulled him inside, slamming the door shut after the hired thugs her sister had gathered ran out to her aid.

Bullets ripped through the air, finding a home in the bodies of Romano's fallen enemies, as behind him, Roderich pulled Elizaveta from the tiny window. Newly black bob in stark contrast to the snow around them as she twisted, maneuvering her hips through the limited opening. The assassin paid no heed as broken glass sliced through her skirt, wincing only slightly at the cuts to her thigh, the blood dropping in dots of bright red against the white ground.

"Rod, you-a better hurry the fuck up!" Romano called over one shoulder, never taking his eyes from the petite woman who had taken refuge behind the car of one of her sister's patrons. The still sleeping man would surely be surprised when he took his leave, slouching from the bed to find his jalopy full of holes.

Of course the woman crouching low behind the vehicle spared no care to its owner. From around the wheel, Natalya's slate eyes were slits of fury. Aiming fast, she pulled the trigger and watched with relish as the bullet found its mark in the Italian's neck.

But no, the man had moved just in time! "Yeblia!" Natalya swore, most in contrast to her upbringing, as she quickly made to fire again.

"Ah, Dannazione!" Romano nearly dropped his weapon in surprise as he managed to move to the left, just missing the full force of the bullet which, instead of shooting a hole through his throat, merely sliced through skin. Hot blood poured down his neck, quickly turning cold in the winter wind. The don's brother raised one hand to his neck continuing to swear, "Vaffanculo porca puttana!" as with the other, he brought his gun back up to aim .

Without words, the Austrian, his wife under one arm, pulled his own gun and fired alongside the boss's brother. Wrapped in her husband's long black coat, Elizaveta reached beneath Roderich's vest to retrieve another pistol.

Now outnumbered, it was all Natalya could do to dive below the car as her enemy's bullets riddled the shell. Cursing her men's lack of skill and her sister's windowed basement, which had been no trouble when she held the agent and his twin. How the assassin had found the blacked out window in the pitch black basement she would never know.

the Belarusian continued to shoot from below the car, helpless to do more than curse her ill luck and watch as her quarry backed away and fled the scene.

They had taken things too easy on the Hungarian. If, as she had desired, they'd given Mrs. Edelstein the same treatment Agent Jones and his brother had got, an escape would never have been possible.

She'd been blinded by ambition. So close to achieving her aims, Natalya hadn't considered the assassin's drive could be as strong as her own. Instead of tied with arms and legs to chairs, doped to immobility, they'd only tied Elizaveta's arms, trusting to the few punches to the face to keep her down.

The Belarussian now extricating herself from the shelter swore she'd never make that same mistake again.

Engines roared to life from the side street where the cars had waited. Silence followed.

No sirens. Not yet.

Natalya knew the sirens would come in time; lips curling in disgust, she rose from her hinding place. She kicked the men who'd failed her so completely before calling for help in hauling them in to hide the bodies until the cops she knew would come could be mollified.

Luckily there was no worry, Natalya smiled as she followed the men who now carried their fellows up the back steps and inside. The girls at her sister's disposal coupled with the weaknesses of most men, and the glorious corruption of the city would see that no questions were asked. No suspicions would linger; long legs and heaving bosoms having been proved too great a temptation for the boys in blue to resist.

As Natalya waited quietly in the upstairs room she called her own, her enemies cars came to sudden stop blocks away. While the Belarusian soothed her bruised ego with the knowledge that at least her tool still lived, and the all important evidence rested in the envelope she even now held in her grasp, Roderich stepped from his car, as beside him Romano did the same.

Natalya's fingers caressed the edges of the incriminating photo as Roderich's moved his wife's hair from her face.

* * *

_Sestra, pozhaluĭsta, ty skazali ty ostanovitʹsya - sister, please, you said you would stop!_

_Tishe! - hush!_

_Yeblia - Fuck!_

_Vaffanculo porca puttana! -fuck yourself dirty whore!_

* * *

The Hungarian woman stood surrounded by the men who revered her. From the husband for whom she would always sit upon a pedestal, and the old friend, for whom she would always be a perfect example of feminine strength, to the young soldiers who came to the job hearing tales of the courageous and beautiful assassin.

The ever present wind touseled her shorn black bob as with sharp icy gaze, her husband spoke low. His words a whisper, meant only for her.

"Who did this?"

Roderich's index finger lingered just a millimeter from his wife's bruised right eye and cheek before trailing to her busted bottom lip.

The vibrant bruise was only made more brilliant in the stark palette of the city. White snow, turned black beside the road, grey buildings reaching the sky only to be obscured by fog, black strands of hair, once a soft walnut brown, now blew about the pale skin, highlighting the splotches of purple and yellow that marred the perfect face of his Geliebte.

One eye swollen, Elizaveta had never the less aimed and fired the gun she still held with ease. Now, fixing moss green eyes on those of cold amethyst, the wife told her husband whose fist had been the one to cause her injury. Knowing the rage she would unleash with so simple a truth, one assassin fueled the other with only a name.

"Lorenzo."

Bystanders hurried as they passed; the wise looking anywhere but at the well dressed men beside the stately towncars parked simply beside the road. The very wise ducked into nearby stores rather than be spotted by the tallest of the group as he turned in anger, unloading his weapon into the brick walls of an adjacent alley, a dangerous growl coming from a so often quiet man.

Breath mixing with the smoke from the still hot pistol in his hand, Roderich turned to face his wife as Elizaveta's fingers wrapped around his arm.

"We will take him out together." Her voice was the epitome of femininity, tinged in devotion as she spoke of murder.

Her husband answered in equal measure, the words flat and cold. "He is already dead. He just does not realize it."

Elizaveta leaned on her man's shoulder as he spoke. A gratified smile about her split lips.

Waving their soldiers back to the cars, Romano joined the couple at the mouth of the alleyway.

Having stood so near to the woman who'd always been a friend as she'd spoken the traitor's name, Romano shook with unspent vengeful desire. How simple things would be if he had only been able to kill the bastard. If he'd been able to lay Lorenzo out – he and that crazy bitch Arlovskaya, he would have in one swoop rid his brother of at least some of his problems and atoned for his own earlier impulsivity.

Self disappointment and anger boiled in the hot headed mobster's veins; Romano barely registered the chill in the wind as he stood now, beside his friends and associates.

"Don't worry 'Liz, that-a bastard corpse just-a has to be a-shown to his-a damn grave." Arms crossed, an expression of intense hatred gave way to one of uneasy brevity as the Italian soon found himself pulled beneath the Austrian's arm.

Laughing a bit uncomfortably, Romano returned Roderich's unusual affection with a pat to the taller man's back.

The three killers stood together on the street, arm in arm, the married assassins and the don's brother.

After a few moments, Roderich's arm dropped from Romano's shoulder. "Your plans?" The Austrian, now back in his more aloof style of friendship, questioned the Italian. His own intentions clear, Roderich motioned to his car, and a young made man hopped to attention to open the door for Elizaveta.

She, however, instead of making for the car, turned her attention to her reckless young friend as Romano spoke, the frozen blood at his neck having turned russet as it dried in the cold air.

The elder Vargas brother's arms uncrossed, hands taking refugee deep in his pockets. "I'll go back. Case the joint, watch to make sure he doesn't leave." Romano went on, as Roderich nodded in understanding and agreement, neither man noticing as Elizaveta smiled, shook her head to the man who waited at the car, and bent to rip a strip of fabric from her already torn skirt.

The trained killer then bent her knees to crouch in the snow, finding some, more clean than that so close to the road, Elizaveta wet the strip of cloth before returning to the two men now readying to depart.

"I'll wait," Romano went on, his voice taking on the cadence of a man plotting another's death with utmost pleasure, "till I know he's-a still there. I'll-a listen and watch for our spy, the doctor to arrive. Whether it is-a tonight or tomorrow, that-a bastard'll learn why he should-a respect a lady, and the Vargas name."

"Ahem" Clearing her throat, Elizaveta brought the wet cloth to Romano's neck. The cut wasn't bad; the heat from the bullet looked to have cauterized the wound even as it caused it. "Don't forget, boys, to let me in on his punishment as well."

The wind continued to howl as Romano agreed, Elizaveta pocketed the now blood stained cloth, Roderich stood silent in irascible intent.

When the three parted, the couple in their car, the don's brother in his, their plans were settled.

Now nearly five o'clock, the sun was fast setting and Romano and his men would watch the Gold Star all night if necessary. Women who sold their bodies would sell information; so long as with the payoff came a promise not to put them or their beloved madame in danger. Romano planned to call his brother as soon as he had information to give. Deep in thought, the Italian watched his adopted city pass in a blur as he swore to himself this was an assignment he wouldn't allow his emotions to ruin.

Gripping the brim of his jet black fedora tight, the mobster's eyes focused on the felt fibers with intensity as two very different men filled his thoughts. Though determined not to let his heart dictate his actions, Romano was unable to stop his mind from conjuring the men whose images pulled his heart in two very different directions.

The man he'd left in Spain, Antonio…surely his return letter would be finding him soon. This was a man with whom Romano had always had secrets; never breaking the vow to tell his once-love what occupation awaited him at home, or in the new city of Chicago. The Spaniard had been clingy, emotional, needy and oblivious; but also loving... very attentive in his way.

In contrast, the man he'd fought to push from his mind, though the German's pale image still haunted the hot headed Italian's heart, Gilbert. The name sent a taste of bile to Romano's mouth, as he knew exactly where the albino was, where he had spent each minute of each day since Christmas.

The knowledge twisted snake-like in his gut, the knowledge that his advances had been rebuked in favor of a lesser man.

Parking across from the brothel, Romano exiting the car with his men, as they took up residence in a restaurant which would be their headquarters for the night. The fiery young man of honor's eyes smoldered as with great difficulty, he shoved the crooked grin and crimson eyes of the man he could never have from his mind. Indeed, now Romano understood with little regret, the actions he'd taken had set he and Gilbert on a course of mutual destruction. He couldn't have him, but he would likely have to kill him.

Regardless of his brother's wishes.

Romano's fingers tapped the table top as he watched one of his men meet with one of Braginskaya's ladies at the back door, while at the front, the doctor had finally arrived.

The girl took the money and disappeared back into the building.

Watching the windows of the hotel brothel as the made man returned, Romano's fingers continued to drum out a beat as dark as the one in his heart.

An hour passed. An hour that felt as though an eternity to the impatient mobster.

But at last, the girl reappeared at the back door. Looking both ways, the lady of the night crossed the street, her short auburn bob bouncing in the wind as she ran, a long fur coat concealing a much shorter dress beneath.

The information Romano had waited for at last in his hands, he stood and though his heart burned to act, he smiled to the girl, slipping a bit of extra cash into her hand as he thanked her, telling her not to go far, he would need her again. The don's brother struck a commanding figure as he dismissed his men and made for the closest pay phone.

As he dialed his brother, the don slept, his ear to his capo's chest. Held securely under Ludwig's arm, Feliciano's thoughts were far from work.

* * *

The ringing of the phone echoed throughout the penthouse suite, shaking both men from their slumber.

Feliciano moved across his lover's chest to yank the handset from his bedside table. The telephone cord draped across the German's bare chest as Ludwig moved to sit up against the headboard while Feliciano settled back beside him, phone now held in hand, receiver to his ear.

"Si, Romano - attendere un minuto." Feliciano spoke into the mouthpiece before covering it with one hand, the mafioso looked to his strong capo, now rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Veh, il mio amore, go back to sleep." This was the second time his brother had woken Ludwig, and Feliciano wanted nothing more than for his determined man to get some very well deserved rest.

"Mm." A noncommittal sound came from deep in the German's throat as one large hand moved from beneath the blanket to rest on his Italian's thigh. Weary blue eyes closed again as Ludwig lay his head back against the cool wood of Feliciano's headboard.

The dream he'd been having began to fade while the capo listened to his boss' words as Feliciano talked to his brother in rapid Italian. The dream faded, but not the sensations it had stirred. Heat spread across his neck and face as Ludwig's heart raced; thankful to the darkness for concealing his flushed cheeks, the German's fingers moved in small circles on the Italian's thigh. Though sure Feliciano had come to bed fully clothed, Ludwig's hand none the less rested now on bare flesh.

It had been a dream, had it not?

His eyes opening a fraction, the blonde looked over the brunette, now seated cross-legged beside him on the bed. One hand holding the receiver to his ear as the other held the mouthpiece close, the petite mafioso nodding as he spoke, clearly in agreement with whatever his brother was saying on the other line.

Yes, surely the memories were those of a dream. It must have been Feliciano who wriggled from his pants alone as he slept, and not Ludwig who tore them from his body, because here was his beloved Italian, wearing the same white dress shirt he'd worn to bed. Golden cufflinks still attached to sleeves sparkled in the muted light of the lamp on Feliciano's side.

It had to have been a dream, otherwise those cufflinks would be laying on the floor. He remembered very vividly unhooking them from his lovers cuffs as Feliciano unbuttoned his shirt.

Yet, here the shirt was, covering Feliciano's chest seemingly in defiance of the capo's desires. Though, Ludwig noted with satisfaction, it was only half defiant, as it was only the lower half of the buttons which stood in his way. The top half undone, the white cotton shirt hung, nearly draping from slender shoulders. Feliciano's golden crucifix, hanging against his heart, glinted in the light as his chest rose and fell in a deep sigh.

Ludwig's eyes focused on the rise and fall of his lover's chest. The weight of responsibility hung heavy on Feliciano's shoulders, and things had never been so dangerous, so unpredictable. It was as though each day they were fighting harder, treading water in an impossible storm.

The ever present pendant hung beside a scar which would forever haunt the German; the reminder of a just how close Ludwig had come to losing the man he loved. Unconsciously gripping Feliciano's thigh a bit tighter, Ludwig's eyes were fastened to the scar just above his beloved Italian's heart. Blood raced through the capo's veins as he gazed at his boss. In this moment, there was nothing Ludwig needed to do more than kiss the mark on the other man's chest until it disappeared.

Aware that the grip on his leg had intensified, Feliciano looked up to meet his soldier's eyes. Overbright, Ludwig's clear blue eyes rose from Feliciano's chest. The two men stared into eachother's gaze as Romano went on on the other line.

Feliciano's heart did a flip beneath his ribs and sped in a furious rhythm as he exhaled a silent and happy sigh. He'd come to understand that look, the animalistic need in his strong man's expression, in the way Ludwig's piercing blue eyes grew ever more intense.

The don felt his body react in expectation, with heightened pulse and rapid breath, he hurried to finish the conversation with his brother.

"Si, si..." Feliciano mumbled, never taking his eyes from those of brightest sapphire. Held as though by hypnosis, the mafioso mumbled orders into the phone and then with a final nod and a soft "Si, si, farlo. Addio, Romano" , he hung up the phone and keeping eye contact, moved to replace it on the side table.

This time, Feliciano straddled his strapping blonde as he reached to put the phone back where it belonged. Both hands now gripping his Italian's thighs, Ludwig moved his fingers along Feliciano's smooth yet firm legs, up beneath the boss's shirt to grip slender hips, notably as bare as his legs.

Heart racing, Ludwig felt the heat of his flushing face. No matter how acquainted they became as lovers, no matter how well Feliciano's body knew his touch, he would always be left breathless; there would always be something unbelievable in his luck. The world could be burning down and as long as Feliciano was in his arms, warm caramel eyes gazing into his, to his very heart, Ludwig knew he wouldn't care. Breathless, he would let it burn.

Feliciano leaned down toward his love's hard chest, moving the bedspread aside as he did so. Hip to hip, the Italian felt his German's erection against his own. Only Ludwig's pants stood between them, a flimsy barrier, which would quickly be removed.

Feliciano's lips met Ludwig's as the larger man strengthened his grip on his lover's hips. A low moan escaped the capo's throat as bucking against restrictive slacks, the German returned his Italian's passion with equal fervor.

The don's body thrilled under his partner's touch as Ludwig's hands echoed his kiss, moving up and down Feliciano's slender back, pulling him closer with each movement.

Tongues caressing and then pressing past lips met together to entwine as fully as the men's bodies.

His breath coming fast and short, Ludwig finally broke for air, blue eyes opening to capture those of golden brown again as Feliciano pulled back, his face as flushed as his paler lover's.

Both men's hands worked of their own accord.

Ludwig's moved from Feliciano's back to his chest, freeing his love's buttons from the inside. The German's breath caught short as the shirt fell open, his petite Italian, resplendent in his nudity.

"Meine Liebe," the blonde spoke as his hands moved from his beloved brunette's chest to his wrists, unfastening the gold squares of glass, the gifts of love now the only things keeping the shirt on at all. "Vhat...ah, news?" Ludwig's heart thudded loudly in his ears as Feliciano's fingers were swiftly removing his slacks.

"Veh~" The boss sighed in appreciation as he tossed his capos pants and boxers over a shoulder.

Caramel eyes were clouded in need and looking up beneath dark lashes, the Italian's gaze traveled from his lover's ample dimensions upward to the muscular chest heaving with hitched breath to the flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and finally blonde locks still messy from sleep.

Feliciano knew what he wanted, and in one movement he'd slid back atop his strong man, holding Ludwig's gaze as their hips ground together.

The mafioso's fingertips raced through disheveled blonde hair, careful on Ludwig's bruised right side, as the capo once again held possessively to his boss and lover, large hands moving to encircle the slim waist of the smaller man as their hardened cocks pressed together, sliding against eachother with the rhythmic movements of their hips.

The Italian's lips grazed the German's as Feliciano managed to speak. "It will all...ah.." He panted as his desire mounted, head lowering to Ludwig's broad shoulder, "ah... it'll be over tomorrow." Turning his head to kiss lightly along his man's muscular shoulders and neck, as Ludwig's hands moved to cup his buttock as they continued to move together, Feliciano's speech came in bursts.

"Lorenzo's at the.." His kisses moved lightly to the bruise maring his handsome man's ear and temple, lips covering sideburns on their way into light golden hair. "ah, uh..." For a moment words failed the petite mafioso as his lover's breath sped, Ludwig's hips grinding upward into his own as the blonde leaned his head again to the back of the headboard, prodding his petite boss on, "Ja vhere is he?" Blue eyes flashed electric in both murderous intent at the hated enemy's name as much as in arousal at the movement of Feliciano's body against his own

"At the Gold Star."

Internally vowing vengeance as his lips graced the sensitive bruise, the boss went on, "Romano is watching him, and Kirkland should be reporting back as well." Feliciano gasped as he felt Ludwig grip his waist tighter, wet precum slicking thier movements.

Looking into beloved blue eyes clouded heavily with desire, the boss sighed, his heart racing in equal rapidity with his lover's.

Nothing thrilled him like seeing his stoic man undone.

"Tomorrow." Feliciano spoke low, lips now millimeters from his German's. "Tomorrow, after the meeting with...ah, veh~" One of Ludwig's hands had moved up Feliciano's back to run through smooth mahogany hair, capturing the stray curl around one finger.

"After the meeting, we move in." Parted wet lips touching, Feliciano hurried the sentence, "We take them all out in one night. Lorenzo won't make a move tonight. He'll wait, he...he hasn't got anyone left to trust in the outfit."

The plan out, the necessity for words passed, the don dissolved into his capo's kiss. Need threatening to overwhelm him, Feliciano moaned softly as he sighed in response to Ludwig's low growl, guttural and ferocious. Speaking in gasped breathes, unwilling to relinquish his Italian's lips, the blonde kept his grip strong on the brunette's lower back, his other hand buried in locks of his man's mahogany hair.

"I vill kill him myself"

Ludwig's words, spoken low and purposeful, filled Feliciano's heart and made his body ache to go further, to have his strong and devoted soldier inside him again.

"He vill not live to regret," The German's lips could not resist his lover's, swollen and pink as his own must be. Kisses rendered each man speechless.

One hand still at Feliciano's back, Ludwig let the other drop from his love's hair to the bed. In one swift movement, he'd flipped the smaller man on his back, now on his knees, the taller capo leaned over the boss, lips still locked in the penetrative kiss, tongues intertwined, hesitant to separate even to breathe.

When at last, the two parted, blue eyes blinked taking in the man who lay below him.

Was it the hit he'd taken to the head or simply the man below him which caused his head now to swim? Perhaps it was both.

Don Vargas smiled a heady grin, eyes heavily lidded, he spoke softly, "Meine Liebe' wet lips formed the words, barely more than a whisper as he went on, thinking hard to remember words he'd read in the phrasebook. He pieced them together, "Mein Mann, so stark, so tapfer."

Ludwig's heart contracted sharply. Feliciano's accent caressed the German words as his hands ran along muscular arms to rest at broad shoulders.

"Mein Gott..Ich liebe Dich." The capo's hand ran through the mafioso's hair again, lingering at the beloved curl before traveling south across the chest that arched from the bed at his touch. Ludwig's fingers ran along the thin gold chain and passed over his love's crucifix to circle the scar above his heart. "Ti amo," The German spoke his Italian's language in turn, though he knew he would never achieve the melodic quality Feliciano spoke with ease. "Ti amo, Feliciano." Ludwig repeated the words a few more times, noting with satisfaction the happy whimpers of the man below him as he dropped kisses to the offending scar, and with one hand still wrapped around his love's back, the other continued moving past Feliciano's chest and abdomen. The capo grasped the boss's erection as his own strained for more.

"Ah, ah...veh.." Feliciano writhed under Ludwig's ministrations. The petite mafioso's lithe body moved in rhythm with his lover's hand.

Hesitantly the German eased his hand away. With a promise to be right back, Ludwig was fast to sit up and reach for the lubrication in the drawer of the bedside table.

Too fast perhaps.

The walls were spinning.

The light, already a soft and muted glow, flickered and went out.

A metallic taste in his mouth accompanied the still racing heart beat which roared thunderous in his ears.

Blackness.

"Ludwig!" Feliciano's voice, pitched in panic broke through the waves of dizziness.

Darkness giving way to light, Ludwig blinked and realized he was on the floor.

"Vas ist das?" He spoke more to himself than anything else, but it was his worried lover who answered.

Now kneeling beside the bed as well, Feliciano's eyes were wide as he spoke. "You fell. You just fell from the bed. Ludwig, il mio amore, are you alright?"

The smaller man made to help the larger to stand.

The walls still spun, but at least he could see them. Ludwig sat back onto the bed again, his head leaning back against the headboard as he gulped air, trying to settle whatever had gone wrong with his equilibrium.

"Ja, Feli." Through closed eyes and clenched jaw, the German spoke, "Just..ah, lost my balance."

He had been fine until he'd leaned over Feliciano; that was when he'd first felt the dizziness resurface. Then, when he'd made the sudden move for the lubrication, that was when it had overcome him.

Feliciano's next words dropped like lead to Ludwig's heart, "Veh...maybe you should rest - we don't have to do anything tonight."

Clear blue eyes snapped open, and though the room still spun, it was slowing. "Nein! No, no, Feli - I vant to. I am fine." The blonde reached one hand up to the brunette's chin, "Don't vorry."

"But-" the most feared man in Chicago pouted as he leaned over his love in concern. Though his erection throbbed with the need for release, as he knew Ludwig's still did as well, Feliciano was determined not to cause his devoted man any pain.

"I can," The Italian offered, tongue passing over his bottom lip suggestively, "do other things for you." Caramel brown eyes looked over his beloved as Feliciano continued, "Or, veh..I could get on top and do all the work."

The slender boss moved close to his capo, "You work so hard for me, Ludwig."

Nestling between his soldier's legs, Feliciano's painfully hard cock brushed against Ludwig's; each man nearly undone by the simple touch. Leaning into his German love's broad chest, Feliciano panted, fighting to control himself, he barely registered the whispered question, and had to look up to meet the other man's eyes before what Ludwig had said began to fall into place.

Feliciano's quizzical expression only added to the heat spreading across Ludwig's neck and face. Looking pointedly away from the wide eyes of his love, exhausting all his willpower to controlling the racing heart in his chest and the spreading flush of his face, The capo half mumbled, "You can..ah, if..."

Mein Gott, why was he so nervous? Why couldn't the words just come? Taking a breath, he tried again.

"If you vant...I vould think you vould vant to...sometimes..augh."

It was because what he was offering was something he'd never done before, that was why he was nervous, Ludwig answered himself silently; it was just something he'd wondered. Had he been fair to Feliciano? Surely he wanted to feel..well, the pleasure Ludwig had felt each time they'd made love.

And his lover had felt pleasure himself, so surely, there was no need to be nervous. Ludwig bit down hard on his bottom lip. He didn't fear anything, least of all should he fear this. Because, the capo thought as his teeth released his lip, turning finally back toward his lover, surely Feliciano wanted and deserved to feel as he had.

Blue eyes opening again at last, the German's hands moved along the Italian's chest and downward once more to grip his lover's still hardened cock. Trying to ignore the rebellious blushing of his cheeks that refused to cool, and his own straining erection, Ludwig spoke again. "If you vant...?" Leaning in as his lips met Feliciano's in a soft kiss, his large hand encircling his partner's shaft, keeping rhythm as they kissed. Ludwig had taken Feliciano as none had before, and as he still prayed none would after. This man, his friend, his boss, his lover, the most feared across their city, had given himself to him, to his soldier, and as his devoted soldier, Ludwig was willing to reciprocate. He'd give anything and everything he had to the man whose eyes, opening as their lips parted, were both wide in concern and clouded with desire.

"Veh..Ludwig," Feliciano sighed, his hips moving along with his German's hand, "Your head..I don't ah..ah..um," The Italian groped for his words, his back arching involuntarily in response to the movements of his lover's hand. "..ah, I don't want to hurt you."

"Did I hurt you?" Ludwig asked, his heart stopping momentarily. Regardless of what Feliciano had said, what if he had only wanted to spare his feelings?

"No, il mio amore-" Feliciano started at once, his hand wrapping around Ludwig's large cock, one finger trailing the length as his mind wandered over each time they'd lain together. "You are always gentle with me."

The capo gasped as the boss's fingers tightened, Feliciano's grip moving up and down, matching the rhythm Ludwig had set; the two men panted in the space between them, words coming with difficulty. With effort, Ludwig managed "Mein Liebe, I.." Pleasure moved in waves as he felt close to climaxing already, " I know you vill be also."

Finally Ludwig's grip on Feliciano loosened, his hand coming up to twist the beloved curl.

Nodding, Feliciano kept up his movements as he reached for the discarded lubrication. It would be a lie to say he wasn't excited at the prospect. Pearly beads of precum dropped from the reddened head of his cock as, closing the space between them, he pressed it against his diligent man's muscular thigh.

He'd make sure he took the same care Ludwig had shown him.

The German shifted downward slightly, still against the headboard, he raised one knee as his Italian lover slicked a finger in lubrication.

Feliciano's heart raced; Ludwig, muscular, strong, and broad of frame blushed furiously as he leaned against the pillows behind him. Clear blue eyes silghtly wider than usual in anticipation.

The boss calmed his own fears.

Be cool; be calm, Feliciano's thoughts ran through his mind. With the same feigned confidence that served him so well as don, the slight Italian kept his hand moving in slow, purposeful strokes as he bent to kiss the tense muscles of his capo's thighs.

"Ti amo" Feliciano spoke in whispers as his mouth moved over Ludwig's body. "Tu sei il mio mondo, il mio soldato."

Only when tension gave way to visible relaxation, when his strong man's breath hitched in pleasure, when the stoic soldier allowed his lips to part around deep throaty moans, only then did his attentive boss press a single finger to his lover's tight ring of muscle.

The sensation was unexpected to the petite mafioso who carefully moved his finger as his love had done for him. The warmth and softness beckoned him in, begged him to claim what his devoted man offered.

Looking up, caramel eyes wide, Feliciano stayed his desire, seeking eyes of beloved blue.

Pectorals raising with heightened breath, Ludwig's eyes were shut tight. The pressure wasn't painful exactly, but an unfamiliar feeling, a pressing sensation.

"Veh," The Italian's light sigh brought the German's eyes to open immediately. "Are you alright?" Feliciano's voice dropped in concern, "Meine Liebe?"

"Ja, Feli." Ludwig's lips twitched in a small smile, "Go on."

Slowly, carefully, the boss complied with his capo's direction. Moving his finger further in, and in a circle against the walls of warm muscle, Feliciano's aim was the one spot he knew he must reach. The spot his love had found in him, which had made him forget the pressure and pain and only feel the pleasure coursing throughout his body.

All the while Feliciano lay kisses to the larger man's thighs, free hand continuing to pump his lover's cock while his own leaked against the bedsheets.

At last a sharp gasp signaled his achievement.

Face flushed as ever, Ludwig's sky blue eyes were watery and shrouded in pleasurable haze. The broad shouldered capo let loose a low moan and moved downward on the digit now being pressed deeper within him.

If seeing Ludwig lose his composure before had made Feliciano's heart skip and his body ache in need, it was nothing to now.

The strong German's head leaned back against the headboard as his large, fit body moved in a way his Italian lover had never seen.

"Gib mir...mehr." The words came low in a guttural request. "More," Ludwig repeated, fists tightly clenching cotton sheets. "bitte."

Heart now thundering loudly in his ears, Feliciano added a second finger. His own need almost impossible to ignore, the petite mafioso spread the digits carefully, preparing his partner as Ludwig had done for him.

Sighing in heady appreciation for his German love, Feliciano's breathless sighs and continued kisses echoed Ludwig's occasional deep moans and heavy grunts. The capo covered his mouth as the pleasure rose in waves, biting into the back of his hand as his hips moved downward toward his beloved boss.

It was nearly too much; Feliciano's smooth hand worked Ludwig's shaft in expert motion as his fingers continued to massage just the right nerves along his insides. Ludwig's tenuous hold on his self control was slipping and slipping fast.

As was Feliciano's.

"Veh..." Don Vargas' caramel eyes were bright, his fingers tapered to the head of his capo's weaping cock. This was it.

"Are you ready, amore?"

With a nod of his head, Ludwig released his wrist, bitemarks evidence of his attempt to retain control.

Words failed the strong man, but were not needed. The nod of his head and fixed gaze were clear enough.

It was time.

Feliciano's heart continued to race out of control as he withdrew both fingers, slicked his ready cock, and holding his lover's gaze, the mafioso prepared to take all that his brave and devoted soldier offered.

The boss's cock was hot and rock hard at his entrance, but the capo was ready; reaching a hand down from where he gripped the sheet tightly, Ludwig ran fingers along Feliciano's side, coaxing him, without words, to continue.

Needing no further prodding, the Italian gripped his German's thighs with both hands and pressed carefully into the warm and welcoming ring of muscle.

He fit perfectly, it was as though they were made for eachother. Feliciano's breath caught in his throat as with each inch he went further, a heavenly sensation flooded his consciousness. Just the right amount of tightness, just the right amount of heat.

Determined that Ludwig would enjoy everything as much as himself, Feliciano drew back slowly, eyes half closing as the pleasure shot through him. It was unbelievable.

As Feliciano pressed back in slowly, his breath heavy, Ludwig released the sheet his left hand had gripped so tightly. Taking slow, calming breaths, the German's right hand stayed at his Italian lover's hips as they moved back and forward pressing into him. Left hand taking his throbbing cock in hand, Ludwig pumped himself along with the movements of Feliciano's hips.

The pressure as the boss filled his capo was steadily easing. Blue eyes roved over the man above him; the slender Italian's expression caused the German's heart to swell, his face to flush even brighter. Warm caramel eyes half closed, cheeks as pink as the soft lips that parted to allow light sighs and deep moans to escape. Feliciano's mahogany hair hung in front of his face, tiny beads of sweat collecting at his hair line with each move he made.

Hips and hands moving in harmony, the two men set a rhythm, each held spellbound by the other.

Feliciano pressed further in, and further, hands sliding up from Ludwig's thighs to grip his hard and sweat moistened waist. Pleasure coursed throughout his body, and with each tiny sound he coaxed from his lover's throat, Feliciano was gratified to know Ludwig was enjoying himself as well. The Italian's eyes were held captive by his lover's movements - the arch of his back, the movement of Ludwig's hand as he pleasured himself...

But Feliciano wasn't satisfied. He wanted Ludwig to writhe below him, to lose himself entirely. He wanted to hear his strong man call out his name in abandon, to feel the intensity he himself had felt each time. He needed his devoted man to feel as much pleasure in this position as he had, as he was feeling now.

Fingers digging into hips, Feliciano sped, he pressed himself to work as hard for Ludwig as his capo had always done for him.

The German's grasp on his Italian's hip began to falter. Feliciano opened his eyes, panting, he searched his man for any signs of distress.

But it was not distress that met Feliciano's searching gaze, as Ludwig's sky blue eyes widened then closed, craning his neck back into the pillows as he'd long slipped from the headboard, the hand that had so long been held at his lover's slender hips was now held against his mouth. Biting into his palm, Ludwig was unable to control the sounds he heard coming from his throat as though created by another; involuntarily his vocal cords echoed the sensations now coursing through his body. Each muscle propelling him down onto the cock pressing in and pulling back to thrust forward into him again.

Feliciano kept up a fast pace, gasping for air as he did all he could to continue hitting that spot within his beloved soldier, the magical button that could undo his stoic man so thoroughly.

The Italian brought a hand up to his German's hair, running fingers through sweat drenched blonde locks, Feliciano moved down toward the hand covering Ludwig's mouth so tightly.

Pulling on his capo's fingers, the boss spoke in gasps, his body moving along with his partner's as though enchanted, hips thrusting of their own accord, unable to stop, speeding both men toward climax.

Feliciano had to see the eyes that had captured his heart since the first day he'd seen them; he had to hear the voice he'd loved since first his soldier had saved his life.

"Lud-" Nearly losing the ability to talk, Feliciano moaned the rest of his lover's name as he pulled against the fingers covering the capo's mouth. "Ludwig, veh..." He repeated, "open..ah, ah," Fighting to stay coherent and speak in the language both men knew, Feliciano focused all he could to this one task, finally succeeding in pulling the German's hand from his mouth, he spoke as clearly as able. "Open your eyes."

Eyes still closed tight, Ludwig bit down hard on his bottom lip, fighting to suppress the moan his voice longed to express.

"Open your eyes," Feliciano repeated, "Veh.." He sighed, hair falling into his face as he pressed on, nearly unable to hold in his own release. "Per favore, il mio amore, let me hear your voice. No one will hear you here. I gave orders I was to be," A wavering gasp broke his sentence, "left alone all night." The boss's crucifix dropped to his capo's chest as Feliciano leaned over Ludwig, the German's muscular thigh pressed to his own chest, knee bent, calf up and over the smaller Italian's shoulder. "The, ah...only guards are two floors below us. No..ah..., veh...no one will hear you."

Still the blonde's neck craned back into the pillows, his back arched against the sheets, his body screaming out what he fought so hard to control in his voice as waves of indescribable pleasure shot through his body.

A small sound escaped around the teeth that sunk so sharply into his lip.

Feliciano's eyes widened. Was that...had his strong, silent, stoic soldier...whimpered?

That was it. Heat spread through the Italian's body as he pressed himself into his partner. He _had _to see those eyes, _had_ to hear that voice. Suddenly recalling the fierce glow that had overtaken his lover's eyes before, Feliciano understood. He felt the same strong sense of possessive need, to claim the man below him as his own, to take the love and trust the other offered, to take him, body and soul.

"Guardami!" It wasn't the soft voice of Feliciano, the civilian on a battlefield, but the commanding tone of the boss of Chicago.

Ludwig's eyes flew open at once.

It was all too much for Feliciano. The capo's blue eyes, watery and bright, looked up into his boss's caramel as another moan threatened to erupt. Ludwig bit down harder on his lip in a vain attempt at control. However, the guttural sound came from deep in his throat, as blood trickled from his lip, his body giving way to the satisfaction.

Seeing the blood drip in tiny drops of crimson from his lover's lip, Feliciano's hand grasped Ludwig's tightly where it rested atop pillows, above the capo's head.

Moving in, the Italian knew the only way to force his German's lips open was to bring them together with his own.

The coppery taste of blood now on his lips as well, Feliciano kissed Ludwig passionately. Sighing in the breaths between kisses, the Italian's tongue ran along his lover's lips and teeth, the light taste of blood lingering from where Ludwig had bit into his lower lip.

Blood; how much of it had his man shed for him? Gratification flooded through Feliciano's veins as finally, Ludwig voiced his pleasure, the deep moans bubbling up to be captured in the kiss they shared.

How many men had Ludwig shaken down, even killed for him? How many times had he saved his life?

Too many to count.

Blue eyes held caramel brown, "Ich liebe-" The German's words were broken by a shudder and a gasp which ended in a deep masculine cry.

"Ich liebe dich, F-feli..." Ludwig finished his words, leaning upwards from the pillows behind him to take his boss's lips in another kiss.

Feliciano felt his legs tremble as his hips continued to thrust into his beloved. His strong, brave capo, his loyal soldier and lover, finally undone as the mafioso had never seen.

He knew he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.

Seeing Ludwig this way sent shivers all down Feliciano's back. Continuing to steal wet kisses with each thrust as he pressed into the larger man, Feliciano breathed in words between each one, "Ich liebe" He pulled back, pausing before pushing forward again, "dich auch"

Knowing the effect he had on his German man when speaking in Ludwig's native language, Feliciano pressed as deeply as he could and held his position, leaning forward, still gripping his capo's hand, the boss's brought their lips to meet again.

Reveling in each of his man's gasps and cries as now Ludwig had lost control, it didn't seem he would regain it for some time, Feliciano held their kiss, his heart racing as Ludwig clenched around him. Light headed, the Italian sighed as his German lover deepened the kiss, Ludwig's tongue danced around Feliciano's, exploring his mouth; teeth that bit through his own bottom lip, pulling softer at his beloved Italian's.

Unmoving for a moment, the two men held one another. Crying out their love in broken sentences, in three languages, in soft sighs and guttural moans. Feliciano tried to hold on, to be the master of his body the way his strong blonde would do, but with each pulsating throb, he was more and more desperate for release.

Reluctantly, Feliciano broke their kiss, trailing his lips along Ludwig's neck, he spoke in breathless whispers. "Veh, Ludwig, I can't...I can't hold on, an-anymore..."

The boss's hand moved from his capo's to grip his thigh once more.

Head arching back against the pillows as Ludwig's right hand traveled to Feliciano's hip, gripping just below the mafioso's slender waist, the German spoke; "Ich au-auch kann ni-i icht."

Blue eyes barely able to stay open, Ludwig gripped Feliciano's hip tight, pulling him in, "also... I cannot"

Ludwig's words were heaven to Feliciano, who began to pump slow and steadily, making sure to hit that spot within his lover each time.

The German's head tossed against the pillow, eyes closing tightly as he moved in time with his Italian lover.

Squaring his shoulders, the petite mafioso gripped his capo tight, "Veh, Ludwig, bitte-" Feliciano started, but as a shock wave of pleasure flowed through him, his tone changed, desperate as though a man possessed, Feliciano's lips parted in a cry, "Per favore!" one hand moved along his lover's hard chest till it reached the arching neck, and with a forceful caress, the slender Italian commanded as he had before, "Look, ah-ah, look at me!"

As before, Ludwig acquiesced; eyes snapping open and turning toward his love.

Feliciano's face was transformed by pleasure, enraptured by the man below him. Ludwig gasped and held tight to his boss and lover's hip, Breathless, his heart admitted, as did his voice in the low cries he was powerless to stifle, that seeing Feliciano in this way was and had always been...irresistible.

Fluttering caramel eyes sharp, bright, and piercing in their golden hue held his own. Feliciano gulped the air in gasps, working his hips in a crescendo, speeding up as he propelled them both toward orgasm. Gold reflected from Don Vargas's eyes to the swinging pendant, the devout mob boss's crucifix beating out a rapid rhythm against his chest.

Pumping the hand that held his shaft in time with Feliciano's increasing movements, Ludwig cried out his lover's name, "Fe-Felici-ah-ah-ahno!"

All the years he'd denied himself, he knew now he'd simply repressed the emotions, lied to himself; He'd said the cause of his rapid heartbeat had been nerves, anxiety, regardless of no past history or the fact that these 'nerves' only arose when Feliciano was with him. He'd told himself the reason his eyes were always drawn to the other man was only because he had vowed to protect him.

All these years he'd hidden the truth, far from himself, locked in his heart.

The truth that he'd been enchanted from the beginning.

The truth that when others, afraid to live the life he'd chosen, might have called it even and parted once they'd reached America, Ludwig had been drawn to Feliciano, drawn to each aspect of his complex man.

Breathing heavily, Ludwig kept his eyes open, his grip tight, as together, the lovers moved as one, speeding toward a single destination.

Seeing Feliciano in charge had always made Ludwig's blood thrill in his veins, brought a flush to his cheeks, caused his heart to skip. Whether it was the way his beloved Italian shifted into the man all of Chicago had good reason to fear, the way the petite brunette held himself when he walked into a room of rivals, or the sound of his voice - whether it was when he commanded attention from his men, or, attention from his lover...

"Feli-" Ludwig gasped "Ah, Gott, Feliciano!" as he cried out his lover's name again, his eyes fixed on the slender yet powerful man he loved, he came fast, spilling his seed over hand onto his abdomen

Feliciano Vargas had always been able to get what he wanted. Lower lip quivering, as his tears threatened to spill from caramel eyes, the don leaned over his capo, "Ah, Ludwig~ again...per favore, mio amore..."

Both hands now gripping his lover's slim hips, Ludwig obliged, calling out Feliciano's name again and again as he pulled his man deeper, the boss sighing and shuddering, spilling himself into his devoted capo with a pulsating warmth.

The sensation, overpowering to both men, held each enraptured long after Feliciano's release. Hands grasping hips, hearts racing, eyes unable to look away from eachother, breaths short, exhausted, and content, the two stayed locked together in satisfaction for what seemed a happy eternity.

When at last Feliciano pulled back and dropped into his capo's strong arms, neither knew nor cared what time it was, what day, nor what awaited them tomorrow.

After a few more moments as both caught their breath, Feliciano leaned up on one elbow, whispered his assurance that he'd be right back, that he wanted to care for Ludwig just how Ludwig cared for him. Moving as though waking from a deep dream, the mafioso slipped from the bed, and on legs more wobbly than he could have expected, Feliciano walked to the bathroom, and returning with a warm, wet hand towel, he cleaned his beloved with gentle touches.

At last glancing at the clock, Feliciano was happy to see they still had an hour before Kiku would arrive. He climbed into bed, and under the arm Ludwig extended, Feliciano drew himself close. Head resting on his lover's muscular chest, Feliciano circled a finger in the light blonde hairs dotting his soldier's pectorals. "Did...did I do well?"

"Ja" The German's embrace only tightened, his strong arms pulling his smaller love as close as possible, "All vas perfect." Ludwig murmured content as his lips turned up in a smile before he turned his head to kiss the forehead of his boss and lover. "Perfect, signore."

* * *

_attendere un minuto - wait a minute._

_Si, si, farlo. Addio, Romano - yes, yes, do it. Bye Romano._

_Mein Mann, so stark, so tapfer. - my man, so strong, so brave_

_Tu sei il mio mondo, il mio soldato." - you're my world, my soldier_

_Guardami! - look at me!_

_Ich au-auch kann ni-i icht. - I also cannot _

* * *

While Ludwig held Feliciano close, high above the city, his thoughts were for once far from his recently estranged brother. The capo couldn't have guessed that as he drifted into a light sleep beside his love, Gilbert was just waking beside his.

Instead of the cloudy night sky outside Feliciano's penthouse apartment, it was the forest of brick and steel of the city to which Gilbert glanced from where he sat, his legs propped up beside his Canadian's on Mathew's hospital bed.

Ivan and Alfred spoke beside the newly repaired window in low tones, clearly not wanting to disturb the other men in the room. The pale German rubbed the sleep from his eyes with one hand, while with the other, he still grasped his sleeping sweetheart's.

The fact that Mathew's fingers gripped his own as the young professor slept reassured the bartender that the other man's slumber was a natural one.

Scooting back in the chair, Gilbert sat up more fully, his feet still on the bed, crimson eyes turned to the soft rising and falling of his lover's chest as Mathew breathed slow and deep, Gilbird, settled in a little puff of yellow feathers atop the sleeping man, chirped once as Gilbert's movements disturbed his own sleep.

Careful not to wake his Canadian love, the pale German stood slowly. Slipping his hand from Mathew's, Gilbert stretched and walked the few feet across the room toward the other men.

It was impossible not to count the holes in the wall where bullets had shattered brick, nor notice the brownish stain of day old blood which had colored the white grout between the floor tiles in splotches where bodies had fallen.

Though he couldn't say they'd gotten through yesterday's fight without a scratch, a measure of swagger returned to Gilbert's step, his crooked smile back in place as he congratulated himself, that Mathew had not even a bruise, not even a cut, not a hair out of place.

"Baby don't worry," Alfred's continued, not noticing as Gilbert joined the conversation. "If they send anyone else after you, we'll take them out too." The American agent gingerly ran a hand along his soviet sweetheart's wounded arm, the bandage evident under Ivan's rolled up sleeve.

"Alfred, moi dorogoi," Ivan spoke as though this wasn't the first time he'd said this very same sentence, "it is not if but when. They will not stop until I am dead. In their eyes I am only traitor."

Gilbert felt a bit more than out of place, and was beginning to consider getting a cup of coffee from the cafeteria.

But just as he was turning, his new friend reached out an arm, pulling him back in. The fed slung an arm over the bartender's shoulders, and smiled wide. "We've all got someone who wants us six feet under, Vanya!" His mood greatly improved since his brother had woken earlier that day, Alfred went on, "Hells bells baby - You've got assassins out for your head, plus you hang around me and you're bound to get shot at once or twice a day!" Laughing, Alfred continued, one arm around Gilbert's shoulders, the other around Ivan's waist. He stood between the other men and chuckled.

"Every criminal in this city wants me outta the way," Alfred squeezed Gilbert's shoulder, "And hell, this guy's gone and pissed off the whole Vargas family, and ruined the business of half of all moonshiners I haven't gotten to, with that club of his," Alfred looked over his glasses at Gilbert, "which we all know is a drum full of bootlegged hooch!"

Crimson eyes unwavering, Gilbert's expression was stone sober, eyebrows lifting in amusement as he remembered a certain bottle of vodka he'd procured for the agent a few weeks ago. "I don't know vhat you're talking about."

Alfred's chuckles turned into a full on guffaw, Ivan's lips turning up into the small smile he so often wore.

"Ah, don't worry, you've made yourself family, so what can I do, but look the other way now? Just don't get caught, and I don't know anything about it!"

Taken aback, Gilbert wasn't sure how to respond. Regardless of what Alfred had said, the truth of the matter was that until he'd really gotten to know Agent Jones, Gilbert had been one of those people that wouldn't have mourned his passing. Of course, much had happened in the time since he'd met Mathew, for both he and the agent with a reputaion for being a hardline g-man. Still, the capo's brother had never really considered the agent and he could ever have more than a friendship, and an uneasy one at that, given Gilbert's vocation, and his brother...

"Family?" The word fell from his tongue as though a foreign concept.

"Well yeah," Alfred's eyes were wide, his face etched with incredulity, "You've only saved my brother's life how many times now?" The American's arm dropped from the German's shoulders as he eased in closer to his Russian love, "That more than makes you family in my eyes."

Gilbert stayed silent, choosing not to remind his apparent brother in law that it was his fault Mathew had been in kidnapped not once but twice in one night and then shot less than two weeks later. It was his fault his beloved Canadian was in the hospital at all.

"Vell maybe that's vhy you need those cheaters." But Gilbert's words went unnoticed as Alfred had already turned back to Ivan.

"See, it's gonna all be copacetic Vanya, You've both got government protection!"

Ivan's expression seemed to be a combination of pity and envy for his lover's trust in the ability of Alfred's government to protect them from his. "Ah, Alfred." Ivan decided instead of arguing the point, which he was beginning to learn got him nowhere with his patriotic partner, he'd simply be happy to see his flyboy smiling and optimistic again.

The Russian's hand found the small of his American's back as Alfred stood beside him. "Ya Lyublyu tebya, ti znayesh?"

For a space of a minute all was quiet. Alfred's cheeks took on a rosy glow at his love's words, as Ivan merely continued to smile his slight smile, deciding to keep his concerns for another day.

Gilbert, turning from the couple, was just about to tell his friend the fed that he'd rather go without the government protection. One word like that and he may as well have a bright red bullseye on his chest. That is if he didn't already...his brother couldn't possibly keep the heat off him forever.

But the sentiment died before it could be heard.

Sudden movement caught crimson eyes and with a yell, Gilbert had drawn both Alfred and Ivan's attention as he ran to Mathew's side.

Where only a moment ago he'd been sleeping, the scholar now thrashed and arched against the mattress, blankets twisting around his legs as arms flailed about in all directions. Blue violet eyes wide and unseeing.

As Alfred and Gilbert immediately attempted to restrain and calm the unresponsive Mathew, it was Ivan who threw the door open, running out into the hall as he called out for the doctor, voice, as ever that of a captain of men.

It took less than a moment for the broad Russian to return, the neurologist and a team of nurses in tow. However that moment was anything but short to the two men who seemed helpless to stop their loved one's thrashing.

"Back!" The head nurse barked at the two men on either side of her patient. "Get back, he needs room!" Gilbert jumped out of the way, but standing tall, craned his neck around the nurses each checking vital signs as the doctor stood, prepping a syringe of unknown liquid.

"Agent Jones!" The nurse's voice rose and Gilbert saw that Alfred hadn't moved, his eyes transfixed to Mathew as much as were his own.

It was only the strong arms of his Russian love that succeeded in pulling Alfred from his brother's side.

And like that, as quickly as it had come, the seizure was gone.

The doctor stood back, removing the needle from Mathew's arm as nurses cleaned the area with alcohol and checked their patient's vital signs.

Gilbert stood silently as the doctor spoke to Alfred. The pale German's thoughts raced ahead of the neurologist's words as unconsciously he moved back toward his beloved scholar.

"He should sleep normally now, seizures like this can be a side effect of his injury." The doctor spoke in a monotone voice as though this was expected and the look Alfred was now giving him completely unjustified.

"Well, just what the hell? No one told us to expect that!" The agent crossed his arms, blue eyes wide and indignant behind his lenses. "Is he gonna be ok? Is that gonna happen often?" Anger gave way momentarily to concern, Alfred's eyes flickering toward where Gilbert now stood beside Mathew, their hands entwined again behind the doctor's back.

"Not to worry Agent Jones," The man's previously flat tone changed to one of patronizing comfort, clearly the man hadn't forgotten about the gun the federal agent pulled on him when last they spoke.

"If you are set against his stay in an institution where they would be able to-"

"I'll not have my brother alongside lunatics in one of your nuthouses, you quack!" Eyes turning to slits, the agent's hands balled into fists at his side. The Doctors eyes moved between both the incensed agent Jones and the imposing Russian standing now, arms crossed, beside him.

"As I was saying," He went on, pocketing his hands in his long white coat, "I will be back to monitor any changes, and if," the last word was stressed, "if, he continues to experience seizures with any kind of frequency, I will prescribe a daily dosage of the drug I gave him just this moment; phenobarbital. It's powerful, new, and looks to be able to allow people with mild to moderate epilepsy to lead as normal lives as they can, even the possibility of returning to work."

"Mild to moderate..." Alfred chewed the words. "What if Matt's is severe?"

The doctor looked slightly pitying; his patient was after all was the agent's brother, his twin, even if he had pulled a loaded gun on him. "If Mr. Williams' attacks are severe, a higher dosage may be given to keep him comfortable...however, I would strongly suggest if this is the case, that you leave your brother in more capable hands."

The doctor was already backing out the door, clipboard held in a white knuckled grip.

However, Agent Jones didn't threaten him this time; no weapons were drawn. Alfred only looked toward the ground and then back at the man who stood beside him. "Ivan..."

While the doctor's footsteps could be heard fading down the hall, and the American turned toward his Russian love in worry, Gilbert looked down to the man now weakly squeezing his hand.

Pupils dilated, his expression now easy and calm, Mathew smiled up at the man he loved. "Don't...um...worry, liebe. I.." Lids drooped heavily over blue violet eyes as French replaced English, "serai bien.." Almost before he'd gotten the last word out, the young professor's eyes closed, his smile fading just a bit, lips remained turned up slightly at the corners as he slipped into a peaceful, if drug induced, slumber.

Gilbert only barely registered the conversation between Alfred and Ivan as the two talked about Mathew's recovery; Alfred swearing he'd never abandon his brother to an institution, Ivan nodding, and pulling the shaken agent in close.

No, the capo's brother's mind was far from the hospital room in that moment. _I know he will recover...I know it._ This thought repeated itself in his mind over and over again. Gilbert had noticed that after the shot of phenobarbital, Mathew's words had come easier, even if he hadn't quite caught the last part, spoken in French.

He wouldn't let himself believe for a moment that his love wouldn't get better. He couldn't believe it.

But what then? Even if Mathew recovered, he and the two other men in the room would still be top on his old friend's hit list. Gilbert was sure Romano was still in Chicago, and as soon as he could be found, he could be tried. All would unravel for the little Italian mob boss if the three men testified; most of all the testimony of a federal agent who'd witnessed his brother's near fatal shooting...there would be nothing to keep Romano from prison. No amount of bribery could trump Alfred's eye witness account...Alfred wasn't a witness Feliciano could buy or intimidate.

But of course Feliciano couldn't let his brother go to prison and so he'd get reckless, he'd get desperate, and he'd get caught. He'd get caught with something, even if it was just bribery, extortion or tax evasion, he'd get caught, and that was exactly why Gilbert knew, as he looked down on Mathew's sleeping form, his angel, his kind and innocent scholar, that Feliciano couldn't take the chance. Alfred could never be allowed to take the stand, and he knew who his old friend would send to do the deed.

Gilbert was certain, completely and horrifyingly sure that Ludwig would have no trouble justifying the murder of his new friends. He'd not think twice to kill anyone in order to protect his precious Feliciano. Gilbert's stomach twisted uncomfortably. To think he'd been happy, actually happy his brother had finally acted on his feelings. Not long ago, he'd been a different man himself, never would he have thought he'd befriend a g-man and a displaced Russian soldier, never would he have thought he'd fall so completely in love with a quiet man from Canada...

Already the don had sent his Japanese friends to kill all but him; apparently Feliciano had still been under the impression Gilbert could be persuaded to leave Mathew for dead and come back into the Vargas family fold. By now he'd know he'd been wrong.

Releasing the sleeping Canadian's hand, the pale German ran his fingers along his love's arm before reaching up into his still messy hair.

It was only a matter of time before Feliciano flexed his strongest muscle. Honestly, it'd been so long since he'd been in the loop, Gilbert had no idea what his brother was doing now. Was his time being spent dealing with the ever present inter-family rivalries, now that Ivan's crazy sister was out of the country? Assuming that was the case, of course. Sure, the tribune wasn't printing articles full of the Belarussian's war with the mafia, and there had been less violence across the city in the last weeks, but just as with Romano's supposed presence in Italy, Gilbert admitted, if only to himself, that he'd wait and watch long before he believed anything. The expression in Kiku's eyes had been enough to confirm that Romano was simply laying low, somewhere in the city or nearby.

Crimson eyes were held captive by the rise and fall of his lover's chest. How long before his brother was sent to kill the man he loved?

The fact remained that ever since he'd met Mathew, his sweet scholar had been in danger. Gilbert's blood ran cold at the injustice of it.

Romano.

Romano Vargas could get away with anything, could turn their disagreements irrevocably personal, could burn a rift between even he and his brother, could potentially ruin Mathew's life, his career...had nearly killed him.

Stepping back from the bed, the pale man's face drained of blood, leaving him with a now quite ghostly palor. Romano, in his selfish greed had come so very close to killing the innocent man who had nothing to do with the mob whatsoever, and all because he couldn't handle rejection. The memory of a panic striken ride to the empty apartment nearly two weeks ago ran as a vision inside Gilbert's head.

The blood, all that blood. The certainty that he'd lost Mathew forever. The prayers, the willingness to trade places, to have taken the bullet himself. Gilbert's mind had been a whirlwind of guilt and wrath. The promises of vengence still stood clear in his mind.

Romano Vargas might be used to getting away with murder, but that had to change.

The pale man backed toward the door, sickened with a longing for justice that ran to his fingertips, itching to pull a trigger. Nauseated by the still twisting, torturous guilt not only for his past associations, but for not being there when Mathew had needed him most.

Hands now balled into fists, crimson eyes wild, Gilbert turned, and throwing open the door, he ran from the room, slamming it behind him.

"What the-" the agent started after the capo's brother.

But before Alfred could follow Gilbert into the hall, he felt Ivan's hand close around his wrist.

"Nyet, moi dorogoi," Violet eyes were soft as they looked into blue, "Let him go. He must do what he must do."

* * *

As Gilbert swore he'd be the instrument of the justice Romano had evaded for so long, pacing rapidly through the now nearly silent hall, many things were happening across the city; whether mere blocks or miles from the stately brownstone hospital.

Down in the Ukrainian district, Dr. Kirkland stood eavesdropping, his ear to the closed door of an upstairs room. Natalya Arlovskaya's base of operations, the last room in the hall, was far from where his lady paced fretfully in her downstairs office. Katyusha had agreed, albeit nervously, when her British beau had suggested he go get the story on what her sister was planning with the Italian.

Only the smallest twinge of guilt stirred within him, as the brit held the note from the don's brother in hand. His instructions to report back to the mafia being the real reason for his presence now outside the door. A smirk twisted the Englishman's face wickedly. As the words passed through wood to his ear, any guilt he felt disappeared.

This was all for he and his statuesque dame downstairs. Katyusha would be much happier without her sister around.

Hearing just what he wanted, Arthur knew exactly what to say to Don Vargas. The truth of course. Truth when bent to one's own will was far more powerful than any setup. Now Arthur had control. Now he was on his own side. Memorizing Arlovskaya's plans and the responses of her willing and unwitting puppet, the dealer knew he would have not one, but two phone calls to make. Timing was precious however; he would have to time everything just right or his own plotting would come to nothing. Worse than nothing, the doctor knew if anything went wrong now, he'd be found dead in an alley or never be seen again, tethered to a cinder block at the bottom of the Calumet.

Yes, he'd tell the Vargas brothers what they needed to know, but now was the time to end their arrangement, and end it on his terms.

* * *

Just outside and across the street, the elder Vargas rubbed his arms and sipped at the double espresso held in gloved hands. Gun in his lap, Romano watched the Gold Star. If the doctor did anything other than listen in on the Belarussian's plans, the pretty little auburn haired lady of the night would light a candle in her window. If the Brit did as he was told, there would be two candles in the window. Romano took another long sip of his coffee. A smile played across his lips. Money would always get the job done. And if paid enough, a person's loyalty could be bought with no questions asked. The girl didn't need to know why the dope peddler needed to listen to her boss's sister, she only needed to know that she could now get that extra pair of shoes, that new dress, or fresh face powder.

Of course it helped that none of the girls held any love for the little woman who's violent moods kept the entire hotel in terror. Afterall, Romano hadn't asked them to betray their much loved boss, but only her psychotic sister.

There it was! Two little flames in the window.

The Italian downed the last of his espresso, and reaching to turn the ignition, the mobster was suddenly surprised by a knock at his passenger side window. The convertible's top up, it was impossible, at first, to discern who was doing the knocking.

"Buona Sera!" The Italian words spoken with a decidedly Japanese accent accompanied the small smile of his friend, as Kiku leaned down with a wave, one bag of steaming food hanging from the crook of his arm, as the yakuza gangster balanced a thin pizza box in his palm.

Doing his best to cover the sense of failure he still felt so keenly, Kiku kept his smile up. "Your brother said to have you come for dinner when you are finished here; seems 'rike my timing is good."

"Perfect!" The Italian grinned broadly at his Japanese friend as Kiku slid into the passenger's seat. "What kinda pizza?"

"Pepperoni and tomatoes." Kiku's smile faltered only slightly as he held on tight to the food he'd bought. "Ah, Romano-kun, prease do not drive so fast on the ice tonight."

"Deshou ka?" Romano laughed, returning Kiku's earlier Italian with one of the words his friend had taught him. Hitting the gas pedal, the don's brother grinned wider at the yakuza mobster, "When have I ever-a driven too fast?"

In no time at all they were walking through the doors of the lobby, Kiku white faced and shaken as Romano strolled happily toward the elevator ahead of him. No matter the tattoos nor what they stood for, he would never get used to his Italian friend's driving. Of course, they had made it, which was impressive, he had to admit.

By the time the two exited the elevator and headed down the hall toward their brother, and friend's door, the mob boss was just hanging up the phone.

Information was always good news. Feliciano now had what he would need to plan and carry out an attack on both his enemies at once.

Happily, the mafioso hummed along with the radio. As the evening had turned to night, all the best new hits were singing from the speakers.

"They're playing our song, amore mio." The boss brought his lips to his capo's cheek as he handed the tall blonde a beer.

Ludwig turned in his seat at the kitchen table where he had been organizing his ammunition, and took his slender Italian by the waist. Lips meeting with tenderness, the capo pulled his boss in close. As they parted, a rosy blush just lightly coloring the German's cheeks, Ludwig murmured against Feliciano's lips, "Ja, they are."

A knock sounded from the front door. The signature rhythm clearly identifying the knocker to be his brother.

A second, this one Kiku's.

It was with difficulty made only slightly easier by the promise of delicious food, that Feliciano pried his gaze from Ludwig's sky blue eyes, and humming along to Ruth Etting's 'Deed I Do', the petite mafioso made his way to the door.

* * *

**~The End of Chapter 20~**

_Note: I forgot to put this way up there after the scene, and am just really wanting to post this up right away, 'Cheaters' = Glasses_

_Note for tumblr followers – I will be doing an IJB and 1920s inspired give away, it's all I could think of to make up for the wait! It'll be up soon, just gotta put all the pieces together._

_Note to those who don't have tumblr – Want a one shot? Give me a character or pairing, and a setting or situation if you have one in mind. I'll write you a drabble :)_

_Ok, whew – I was really wondering if I was ever going to get this chapter out! Ah…it feels good!_

_I'll try really hard not to make you wait very long for the next chapter, and since it will be about half the length of this one, and due to some new developments in my life, I'll have a little extra free time, I'm sure I can deliver!_

_Soo, tune in next time for the battle of the Gold Star! All our plots will converge. Those who have been in hiding won't be hiding any longer, the federal agent and Bolshevik captain will face the mafia, someone will run, and some will die._

_~ Sincerely, I apologize if your favorite character dies. Please feel free to message me after reading the next chapter. Or anytime really! Umm just know that I've already written the scene and...I cried just a little. Um, and I felt really bad, but it is inevitable, it's a mafia story after all._

_I'll see you next on the 5th of January, 1921._

_Thank you, spasiba, Vielen Dank, grazie, & merci for reading, my dear, sweet readers!_


	21. Chapter 21

_Chapter 21 It's Just Business_

_Hello my dear readers! Firstly, let me just say how astounded I am that anyone is still waiting for this! I just...am so sorry it's been about a chapter a year for the past two years. Yeesh. well, we're nearing the end of the story, so hopefully I can manage to get a chapter out every other month at this point...fingers crossed!_

_This is going to be posted in 2 parts as it is very long, so what was Chapter 21 will now be Chapter 21 and Chapter 22 for flow. Phrases in German, Italian, French, and Russian will be after each scene instead of all at the top or bottom of the story. ^_^ Enjoy!_

_Oh, of course these two chapters include drug-use, violence, and death, and as always I'm not advocating this stuff. More than one character will die soon, though I will say no more so as not to ruin it for you._

_And lastly, I'd like to thank SoleDadeMisspesares and my sister AbbyGreenEyes who have been such a huge help!_

_Chapter 21_

* * *

January 5th, 1921.

2:00 in the afternoon.

Snow swirled outside the nondescript shop in downtown Chicago; seeming for all the world just another storefront – a deli where customers came and went, chatting amiably with the young men who ran the counter and made their sandwiches but never lingering long. However, regardless of its humble appearance, this was the meeting place of the most influential and dangerous men in the city.

In a backroom past the façade of a deli, voices rose in disagreement while the boys up front simply increased the volume of their radio.

* * *

The Chicago Tribune was pushed roughly across the table, drawing Don Vargas' eyes to the front page headline.

_Real Estate and Construction Magnate Feliciano Vargas Summoned for Second Questioning. Suspicion of Perjury and Aiding and Abetting a Fugitive. _

"Veh.." the sigh escaped the boss's lips as his eyes roved over the beginning of the article. He'd already seen it that morning.

_If found guilty, a formal investigation will be launched into the allegations of racketeering, tax evasion, bribery, bootlegging, and murder which the alleged crime boss has so far eluded according to Federal Agent Alfred Jones. Jones spoke to the Tribune yesterday from his brother's hospital room at St. Luke's where the Toronto professor is recovering from a gunshot wound inflicted by Romano Vargas. Witnesses to the crime apart from the victim include Agent Jones and a visiting friend, Ivan Braginski._

_R. Vargas is assumed to have fled the country or be in hiding. Any information regarding his whereabouts will be rewarded. Should you know anything, contact the Chicago Police Department to make an anonymous tip._

The article continued into the varied allegations that had faced Feliciano and his brother in the past. There was no need for him to read on.

Elbows resting on the table, Feliciano leaned forward to face the other men, each of whom hadn't made a fuss at the loss of one of their number, happy to share their town with one less.

The problem wasn't that he had wiped out the other man without a prior agreement from the others, it was now his own strength and ability to skirt the law and lay low beneath the fed's radar which he had to prove.

Feliciano Vargas knew well the importance of discretion.

"I'm not worried." He shrugged, affecting the very face required to sway any doubts. Keeping his eyes cheerful and trained on the other men around the table, Feliciano, passed the paper to his right where his brother sat beside him, a clear symbol of unity and familial solidarity. "I have enough of the cops on my bankroll; any tips will go nowhere. Let the feds try all they want," Smiling in confidence, the young mafioso went on, flipping his hand dismissively before reaching to the center of the table for a few Tarallini. "they'll get nowhere with their legs cut out from beneath them, and," He tilted his head back and to the left where Ludwig stood behind him, arms crossed, "that can be figurative or literal, it's up to them."

For a moment the only sound in the room was the light crunching of the crispy pretzel snack as Feliciano continued to affect a calm demeanor, radiating cheerful certainty regardless of the concern beneath the façade. However, the moment didn't last, and the man who'd brought the paper stood and began to argue just as his boss finished his snack.

Feliciano stood as well and still smiling, raised a hand, bringing silence to the room.

Laying his palms down on the table, the petite boss counted his heartbeats as the new hit "Tell Me Little Gypsy" played from the front amidst the occasional bell at the door.

_~Tell me, little Gypsy  
What the future holds for me_

Kindly cross my palm with silver  
And I'll try and see~

The aptness of the refrain was not lost on him at all.

He stood in silence until the other man returned to his seat. Once order had been restored, his position respected, and Feliciano was the only one standing, the young Don spoke again. His statement was soft yet dark; he funneled all the energy he could to the persona he so very much had to present perfectly at this moment.

"Let me worry about tomorrow. Today we deal with the troubles of today." His smile unwavering, voice cheerful in comparison to the seriousness of his words, eyes showing all the optimism and confidence he forced his heart to feel, Feliciano continued, "Today we take out our competition and we cut the last traitor from our ranks."

Thinking back to all the training he'd been given by his Grandpa, Feliciano continued to speak in a pleasant yet powerful tone. He remained the only one standing, thereby eliminating the problem of his smaller stature. Walking around the table, he allowed his voice to lift in surety of his plan. Grandpa Rome had never shown doubt or worry, he had always only shown he was the one in charge, and that he was the one in charge for a reason.

"Lorenzo, and his late uncle broke the code of omertà and aligned with our enemy. The Belarusian Arlovskaya has been openly hostile to our interests, threatening me personally as well as our entire syndicate." Feliciano stopped and sighed visibly. "Veh… it's sad to have to come to this, you know I am not a bloodthirsty man, but the rules are clear." Now back at his seat, he remained standing, "I propose a move against her mob in force tonight – I want 2 men from each of you to join me and in one swoop take her and, il traditore Lorenzo, down."

After some time of silence, each of the other three men nodded in agreement, and one spoke up.

"What is this I hear of some dirt the Belarusian's got on you, boss? I wouldn't want it to be something that could incriminate all the rest of us, see?"

Feliciano's heart clenched as his throat went dry. How had anyone heard about that?

"She's got nothing!" Romano spoke up, filling the space of silence his brother had left. "Only some phony jab at my brother's character."

Hazel eyes meeting caramel, the older Vargas brother's silent urging was clear; the younger should go on and make something up. Romano grumbled internally; he'd been doing his damn best to stay quiet, stay low and under the radar Feliciano had asked. They couldn't have a hiccup now, not when Feliciano had been doing so well.

Tapping his foot in agitation, Romano prompted his brother, "go, on tell 'em; it's a riot!"

At last shook from his silence, Feliciano grinned again and spoke to the assembled men. "Si," the petite mafioso laughed, in what he hoped was a lighthearted cadence, "Completely fabricated. She says she has proof-" He thought fast, it had to be something that she'd be able to do, something that didn't come close to what the proof really was, "of me with a girl from that filthy brothel, the Gold Star."

_Grazie a Dio!_ How had he even come up with that? Feliciano smiled in earnest, proud of his quick thinking. "And why would I ever go there? I don't need to pay for a feminine touch."

Winking as his smile turned mischievous, Feliciano prayed his composure was holding, that his performance was being bought. Inside his heart was racing; could the other men see through his ruse? The seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity while he waited for the reaction.

Apparently he had been convincing.

Each man laughed heartily, appearing to have bought the story in full.

Watching his lover work from where he stood against the wall, inches from the back of Feliciano's chair, Ludwig's fists were clenched as his arms stayed crossed against his chest.

Cognitively, he was happy, he should be - even relieved that Feliciano had come up with so perfect a lie, and proud of his man whose confidence overwhelmed fears and silenced any doubts in his leadership.

Feliciano was powerful, sure, and in charge in his role as Don Vargas, and always there was that radiant smile. A thrill ran through Ludwig's blood, stirring his body and exciting the desire to be alone with the man he loved. However...

His heart railed against the very idea of his Feliciano with anyone else. His boss and lover's quick lie had brought up the emotions he'd felt surging, wriggling serpentine in his gut since earlier when they'd arrived.

It had been a good idea, and it remained a good idea still, that to quell any rumors, Feliciano should arrive with a woman on his arm.

But an hour or so earlier, he had walked behind Feliciano as the other played his part well, arm around her waist, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, making her giggle….

Heartburn surged in his chest. He knew it had all been an act; Feliciano's warm caramel eyes had looked back over his shoulder as they entered and he sent the girl off to a waiting cab with an ostentatious pat on the butt and a bit of cash in her hand to buy herself something nice. Misery and apology had all but poured from his eyes.

Of course there was nothing for which his Italian love had to apologize. It was for the best, it was according to plan, and Feliciano had played the part to perfection. Ludwig knew he should simply be happy the meeting was going so well.

Instead, Ludwig's fingernails dug into his palms and his stomach refused to untwist even though he understood perfectly that it had all been an act. Why did he feel this way? The capo asked himself. Why was he so unable to relax the tension he felt in knots all over his body?

As Feliciano, and Romano beside him, shook hands with the other men, each now standing, preparing to part ways, understanding struck like a lead weight.

These were "_men of honor_". Tradition was of paramount importance in their lives, and adherence to their ways was expected. Each middle-aged man now shaking the young Don's hand wore a wedding ring. Marriage and a family. To follow in this pattern was expected of their boss. Feliciano's bachelor ways were accepted now because he was merely twenty; one day the youngest boss in history wouldn't be young anymore.

One day, Feliciano would have to get married.

As Ludwig walked forward, opening the door for his love and the other men who passed by on their way out, he felt Feliciano's pinky finger graze his arm. Eyes met imperceptibly for but a second as the boss showed his feelings for his strong, silent soldier. The German knew his Italian sweetheart would believe it possible that they continue their relationship regardless of what his position and the pressures of society demanded. Feliciano would tell him they could carry on in secret; he would say they'd never get caught.

Even if he knew it was hopeless, and hopeless was surely what it was, Ludwig also knew he'd never say no to Feliciano. He'd come to terms with how short life could be years ago, and he was certain a short life with his love was far preferable to a long life without him.

There was, however nothing he could do with his realization. As the men ahead of him walked through the deli and out into the winter afternoon Ludwig pushed these concerns down in favor of more immediate matters.

Last to leave, Ludwig kept a sharp eye out as Feliciano hurried through the falling snow. One gloved hand held the boss's hat secure as Feliciano rushed through the wind, snowflakes already sticking to his coat. Walking briskly behind his love, Ludwig could see Feliciano's concern clearly as the petite Don was focused on his brother ahead of him, the brim of a black fedora low over Romano's face. At the curb, Kiku stood on the running board of Roderich's car, one hand holding the door open, the other on the hilt of his sword. The smallest sliver of silver glinted in the brightness of the snow as the Japanese mobster held his old fashioned weapon at the ready.

Ludwig's gaze met his friend's dark eyes as Kiku nodded once at their approach. He had the brothers' front as Ludwig watched their backs and he waited on the running board until all his friends had piled into the dark green Cunningham.

Roderich put his foot to the pedal as the other men slid into the backseat, removing their hats, shaking the snow from the brims and dusting it from their shoulders, as their city turned to a blur outside the windows.

Romano, his profile far too well known at the moment, slouched in his seat beside his Japanese friend. Neither Romano nor Kiku spoke, each man more focused on those seated across from them. Romano scowled and sighed, his focus on the floor as beside him, a slight narrowing of Kiku's eyes was the only sign of the turning wheels of his mind.

It appeared there was something between Ludwig and Feliciano; something troubling the tall blonde, perhaps caused by the recent stresses leveled upon the couple? Gaze shifting from his friends to the city as it passed in a gray blur of snow, granite and steel, the Japanese mobster felt the keen sting of guilt. There would be one less trouble for his friends if he had not failed at the hospital.

While Kiku dwelt on the past, Romano looked to the future. Kicking his brother with one foot stretched across the floorboard, he got Feliciano's attention. "I don't trust that doctor Kirkland. How do you know he won't turn tail and flip?" The older brother's arms were so tightly crossed as he spoke, they appeared solidly sculpted across his chest.

Feliciano's gaze moved reluctantly from the man who sat beside him to the one across; he'd been worried his German love was troubled more than usual, but as he forced himself to turn his attention toward his brother, Feliciano's concerns were calmed by Ludwig's thumb as it traced little circles on his hand, their fingers intertwined in intimacy between them. Feliciano sighed deeply and made himself focus on business again.

"I don't trust him either fratello, but for now, we need him; veh…he's our eyes and ears in the Gold Star." Shrugging, he went on. "We need him to keep our enemies inside tonight, and to tell us of their movements."

Romano's open mouth closed, his retort momentarily forgotten as the car slid on a particularly sharp turn.

The boss's shoulder slammed suddenly into that of his capo as Roderich attempted to compensate for the ice-glazed street, turning into the alley between tall walls which blocked any of the sun's weak rays. Feliciano's eyes flew up to meet those of cool sapphire for the span of a heartbeat before reluctantly, he brought them back to his brother who continued, his composure regained.

"Well we sure as hell aren't gonna need him tomorrow."

Romano's dark words were echoed by Ludwig, who spoke as he extricated his fingers from Feliciano's to slide his arm behind the smaller man's back, bringing them closer together as they moved further down the alley, nearing the dope peddler's den.

"Ja, he vill only be another loose end."

Again, the boss caught his capo's eyes as Feliciano looked up again with a nod. "Si, and we take care of loose ends."

The car continued down the alley slower on the hazardous ice as the men conversed. Not a moment had gone by since an agreement had been reached on how to deal with the doctor, than they had arrived at his place of business.

"So, we tell him 7:15, but arrive at 7pm on the dot and take him out with the others, nice and clean." Feliciano clarified as Romano prepared to open the door; one short nod signifying his understanding.

"Veh," The petite mafioso sighed and turned the collar of his coat up in preparation for the cold. "I'm so ready to be done with this."

The hand that once held Ludwig's now rested on the larger man's knee for a moment as Feliciano sat up in his seat. It was with deep reluctance that Don Vargas let his fingers slide from his capo's knee to rest in the space between them. The dealer had been told to be there at this precise time, and to Dr. Kirkland's credit, he was punctual.

* * *

_Omertà: __a cultural attitude and __code of honour__ that places heavy importance on a deep-rooted "__code of silence__", non-cooperation with authorities, and non-interference in the illegal actions of others._

_il traditore: the Traitor_

* * *

The Englishman stood alone just outside the purple door. White smoke curled up from the cigarette held loosely between thumb and forefinger of his right hand echoed the fog of his breath in the cold winter air. Resignation clear in his movements, the doctor stepped forward toward the open door of the car.

Feet heavy as a man approaching the gallows, Arthur strode forward careful to affect an air of calm nonchalance.

_Stiff upper lip old boy._

He steeled his fears and reminded himself that the men in the car had no way of knowing his plans; that for now, he was useful to them, and they had no cause to suspect him of the betrayal he planned.

Taking the offered seat between the boss's brother and his yakuza friend, the dealer took a long drag and then flicked the last of his cigarette out the window. "'Ello boys. Lovely weather."

The other men like boulders flanking either side, he looked straight ahead at the boss and his ever-present German lover. The Englishman wondered briefly if the two men even noticed, or had they grown so comfortable in each other's presence as to not realize how very close their hands were to one another's on the seat, as though their fingers couldn't stand the distance.

Arthur allowed his lips to turn in a smirk as the thought crossed his mind that were he a more patient man, he could simply wait and they would bring about their own end.

Patience, however, was not one of his virtues.

Dr. Kirkland sat silently, bag perched on crossed knee as Don Vargas told him what he was to do. The mobster talked, buildings passing in a blur of grey and brick, as the dope peddler's fingers drummed the edge of his black bag. Minutes passed, seeming to the impatient dealer, to last far longer than the segments of seconds they were.

At last, they seemed to be slowing; Arthur spared a peek out the window as Feliciano leaned back against his seat with a word. "Understand?"

"Yes, yes of course – keep an eye on them," Itching to leave his present company, Arthur glanced around at the near empty street as the car pulled to a slippery stop a few blocks from the Gold Star. He continued, "Ring you if they leave, make a mark by the door as to how many men are inside, and make my own hasty exit at 7:15 precisely, is that it?"

Feliciano nodded in silence as Romano again swung the door open, this time granting the dealer his much desired freedom.

* * *

With the boss once again free to lean into his capo's arms, the luxury car drove off, leaving Dr Kirkland to slog through the snow, medical bag clenched in his fist as his thoughts raced; his own plan solidifying with each step toward his destination.

He needn't tell Katyusha a thing, he'd simply take her out for dinner and ask her to spend the night. By morning they would get the news just as everyone else did. What a lucky coincidence it would seem; they were simply not there when things went sour. With the well-known animosity between Natalya and the mafia, there would be little surprise, and certainly no cause for Katyusha to suspect his involvement. Best of all, if all went according to_ his_ plan, the feds would get there in just enough time to arrest everyone still drawing breath.

Arthur stepped through the slush at the corner of the block. He turned his head toward the Gold Star's sign, which stuck out over the sidewalk a few shops down, and with only a moment of hesitation, the doctor took a deep breath and settled the guilt wriggling in his gut. He knew what was best. He'd protect his lady from the truth, because in the end it would be better for them both.

His steps increased in speed as he neared the door. Ducking beneath the awning, Arthur took a moment to dust the light snow from his shoulders and remove his hat. Another moment to smooth unruly blonde hair, then opening the door wide, he stepped into the lobby with a grin.

"Afternoon ladies. Fancy a bit of pep for your day?"

He glanced to the front desk with a wink to where the statuesque proprietor was just sealing a letter. Emerald green eyes followed the envelope as it was tucked into the madam's low slung neckline.

It was with utmost willpower that his eyes left the enticing bosom.

There was much to be observed, and Arthur couldn't afford the distraction, lovely though it may be. As the ladies of the establishment crowded around him for a quick pick-me-up, and their boss turned and reached to pull two tea cups from the shelf above the desk, Dr. Kirkland noticed the increased number of men in the lobby. No doubt a fair few were new soldiers for Arlovskaya, recent immigrants brought in by honeyed promises of fortune from the pretty face. In a glance he'd sized them up, making distinction between those who appeared to be in for a mid-day romp and those held themselves with the air of an armed man on the job. Young and inexperienced as they may be, Arthur mentally conceded, at least to his more mature eyes.

The doll-faced sociopath was nowhere to be seen however, nor was her associate.

From behind him, Arthur heard tea pouring from the samovar to fill the two cups a split second before Katyusha's voice called across, "When you are done selling my girls on magic dreams Arthur…"

He turned in time to see the long, manicured nail of her index finger tap on one of the tea cups as she lifted them both from the desk and tilted her head across the lobby toward the hall, at the end of which stood her office.

He nodded with a smile through which he hoped she couldn't see. Temporarily lost in thought, the dealer's mind was far from present as the madame made her way across the room; much hinged on his plans going perfectly tonight. He had a lot to lose in this gamble.

Folded dollars placed in the palm of his hand brought Dr. Kirkland back to reality. Money, which once pocketed, served to bolster his nerve; he'd certainly hate to not be alive to spend it.

As Katyusha's working girls went back to their patrons, or to lounging in the lobby chatting amongst themselves, he walked with purpose down the hall.

The madam's door was open; one long leg crossed over the other, she sat on her desk and took a long sip of tea.

"Alright, dove?" Arthur dropped his bag in the empty seat across from her desk and picked up the teacup and saucer which sat waiting for him. "I noticed that sister of yours isn't around; she and that bloke actually leave the building for once?" His voice was low and casual as though Natalya's whereabouts couldn't be less important, regardless of the truth hidden by his practiced demeanor.

Katyusha looked up from her tea, and Arthur felt an instant sense of unease in his stomach, a burning in his chest. He wasn't sure from where it came; was it anxiety that he might've arrived too late or was it the guilt at working against his dame's family trying to resurface? Whatever it might be, the Brit clamped down hard on his emotions, telling himself once again - he knew what he was doing.

Relief came in the form of Katyusha's large blue eyes which met his before rolling up toward the ceiling, her frustration palpable in the air. "Nyet," somewhere between a sigh and curse, the word dropped from the madam's lips as she lowered her cup to the saucer in her lap. "They are upstairs as always…" Her gaze dropped to her hands, "plotting."

Ah, they were here, right where he needed to keep them. Relief washed over him, putting out the flame of uncertainty that had threatened. Arthur thought fast.

"Plotting?" expressive brows wiggled mischievously as Arthur downed the last of his tea. "Well love, what say we pop upstairs and have a listen?"

* * *

As the dealer and the madam climbed the stairs of the Gold Star, so too were the mafiosi ascending in the elevator toward Feliciano's penthouse. Their hands entwined, the capo pulled his boss in close as they spoke of their plans for the night. Plans for making sure Feliciano wasn't tied to the murders; with a drug dealer in a brothel with a wanted killer who was supposedly out of the country, it should be easy to make it look like a deal gone bad.

Ludwig tilted his head as he leaned in to kiss Feliciano, careful to downplay the bruise that still marred his temple and around his ear. Mixing romance and business, the two men enjoyed their time secluded from the public to make up for both loss in personal time and a chance to speak candidly of their plans.

Feliciano hadn't been fooled by Ludwig's careful tilt of the head but didn't call the proud man on his attempt at hiding the injury. Instead, the Italian leaned into his German's chest and slipped his arms beneath his love's unbuttoned coat to wrap around Ludwig's waist.

Smile widening at the blush that passed across the blonde's face, the brunette made a guess at what might have been bothering his sweetheart earlier. "Veh," Feliciano began, lower lip showing just the hint of a pout. "I hated arriving with that girl Ludwig," He repeated with emphasis, "hated it." His grip tightened at Ludwig's back. "I wish we didn't have to hide."

Sky blue eyes found the floor, Ludwig's gaze locked on the tile of the elevator as he felt his face betray him, heat racing across his cheeks and ears. "I know, Feli." The capo mirrored his boss's hold, placing his hands around his boss's waist.

Feliciano moved side to side, pulling Ludwig's hips along with him, "You do, don't you, mein Lieber?" The shorter man waxed romantic in an effort to bring his tall lover's eyes to meet his own. "My soldier, mio amore, forte e leale." Feliciano crooned, "So strong, so loyal, so good to me," He sighed, "veh..." and continued, content in his victory as light blue eyes moved up from the floor to meet his own. "There's no one for me but you Ludwig, come what may."

_Come what may_.

The words were heavy in Ludwig's heart and he hoped in silence, that they wouldn't have to face as many obstacles as he feared.

However, he couldn't let his worries infect the man now smiling up at him. Feliciano seemed full of adrenaline and confidence from a meeting gone well and plans laid out, filled with a certainty there would be nothing wrong, so long as they were together.

Ludwig tightened his hold around Feliciano's waist, pulling him in close, he allowed his heart to leap, inundated with the love he felt radiating from the man in his arms. "Ja, I know Feli. And no one for me but you, come vhat may." Not wanting to linger on the concerns of what may indeed come, Ludwig brought up a more immediate future.

The elevator grew closer to its destination as the couple spoke of their plans after the Gold Star business was through, of making sure no trial came of Romano's near mortal wounding of Jones' brother during the failed attempt on the agent's life.

With a ding, the doors slid open as they reached the top story. Feliciano let go of Ludwig but continued to face his lover, now walking backwards as they progressed down the hall, speaking his thoughts aloud.

"It'll have to really look like an accident with the brother, something in the hospital…maybe an overdose of medication – his doctor can take the fall for it." Feliciano searched the beloved blue eyes, "We should have been more subtle from the beginning. I was too impatient; I should have seen to this myself." He couldn't shake the feeling that something was still bothering the other man. Perhaps it was the overall stress of the situation, stress that was getting to him as well. Feliciano was careful as he continued, to avoid the name neither of them wanted to speak.

"Veh..the only other witnesses are Jones and that Russian."

Ludwig was already thinking of a solution as Feliciano's sentence ended.

Don Vargas turned to open the door as they drew near; the large hand that now moved across his back sent a happy shiver down his spine. Though momentary, Feliciano relaxed into his sweetheart's touch; perhaps his capo wasn't as concerned as he'd feared.

Trailing fingers down from Feliciano's back to his right hip, Ludwig lingered before pulling back to bury both his hands in his pockets; he leaned one shoulder against the wall. Pale blue eyes watched as Feliciano turned the doorknob, but stayed standing where he was, his full attention on Ludwig as he spoke.

"Killing them is now too obvious, but they can be ruined. Plant something on the Russian; get something from one of your men on the take at the bureau. Something classified he shouldn't have. It vill appear he is a spy, und Jones a defector."

Feliciano laughed as he threw the door wide and pulled Ludwig in after him. "Suddenly I have no worries!" Closing the door with his foot, the Italian took hold of his German's tie and pulled Ludwig's face to his. "It's a perfect plan, bello. Why didn't we think of it as soon as Jones' Russian weakness arrived?!" Lashes low over caramel eyes, Feliciano purred, "Vorrei baciarti." A light chuckle left the boss's throat at his capo's bemused expression. Ludwig really needed to learn more Italian. "Küss mich."

Eyes widening as comprehension dawned, the tall blonde happily complied.

That which was unsaid, however, had settled between the lovers as sure as an invisible wedge; though both were determined to ignore it for a time. Ludwig didn't bring up his concerns for their future and Feliciano didn't bring up the problem presented by Ludwig's older brother. Neither wanted to think about the man who knew all their secrets, who could expose Feliciano's true line of work if he wanted and who wouldn't take kindly to what they planned for the men with which he had aligned himself. Furthermore, Gilbert would surely see their hand in the supposed accident and circumstances.

Instead, the mobsters surrendered to the moment. Lips met and parted, hands let loose the tie they held to reach up and over broad shoulders, or left the pockets they'd been buried in to wrap around a slender back.

The troubles of tomorrow could wait until tomorrow, there was enough to worry about today.

* * *

The man the young boss and his capo refused to mention was at that moment, asleep, sprawled across all three of the chairs in the hospital room. The professor was a few rooms away having some tests done, and while the flyboy and the captain spoke in low tones in the bathroom each tending to one another's wounds, changing bandages as they shared stories of older scars, the little yellow fluff that was Gilbird, landed on his sleeping companion's head.

Never noticing the chick making a nest of his hair, the pale man slept on.

_The sky above was overcast. It was cold, but there was no rain, no snow, no wind. He walked along a deserted street in an empty city, a ghost of a city. Something tugged on his hand as he walked, his heart jumped! Hadn't he just been alone? _

_Oh of course, it was his brother. "Ludwig, was ist los?"_

_The little boy opened his mouth, "Wo bist du?"_

_Before the older brother could say he was, of course, right there, his younger sibling was gone. _

_Turning on the spot, Gilbert searched for a sign of his brother on the empty streets, hand held up to amplify his voice, he opened his mouth wide to call out, only to close it slowly as realization dawned on him. What was he doing? Red eyes looked down to the letter clasped in his hand. A letter from Ludwig, imprisoned in Italy. Of course, the war – how had he forgotten?_

_The ratt-a-tatt-tatt of gunfire, the scream of a missile, the clanking sound of tanks surrounded him, drowning out the previously oppressive silence of the empty city. The letter fell to the street, his knees followed as he covered his ears and cried out, "Es tut mir leid, Ich war dort nicht!" The sound only amplified, beating percussively in his head, throughout his body until he called out again and again, "Ich war dort nicht!", Ich war dort nicht!" _

_Silence. _

_The empty city was gone. _

_He stood on a pier, out over the water. _

_His younger brother, now grown, stood across from him on an identical pier. _

"_Ich bin jetzt heir!" He called across the water to his brother, but Ludwig was fading away. He drifted in and out of vision as Gilbert called to him. Far away voices echoed the earlier question, "Wo bist du?" but they too became softer, harder to understand. _

_In a panic, he felt his feet running; running off the pier. He was going to run through the waters. _

_Crash! He hit the icy lake, felt the shock to his body._

And woke up.

Gasping, Gilbert sat bolt upright – the two chairs he'd used as support kicked out from under him as he stood. The chick flew up from his head, chirping displeasure at such sudden jostling.

Ivan, shirtless with half his bandages done up, was handing him a towel. Without thinking, Gilbert took it and wiped the water from his face.

_Wait_…confusion swarmed in his mind,_ it had been a dream, hadn't it? Then why was he wet?_

"Wet…How?" Still sleepy, Gilbert was pretty impressed he managed to get out even those two simple words as the fog was still slowly leaving his mind.

"Yeah, sorry about that buddy!" Alfred shrugged as Gilbert turned to face him. The American agent held up a half empty glass of water with an apologetic smile. "You were mumbling some stuff in German and clenching your fists; you seemed really stressed and wouldn't answer when we tried to wake you, so…" He waved the glass. "drastic measures."

"Ahaha, ja," Rubbing his eyes, Gilbert laughed lightly as he forced himself to wake up.

Alfred set the glass down and moved in closer, inquisitive nature peeking through his words, "Copacetic, Gil?"

"'Course I am; ja, real swell!" Running his hands up from his eyes to fix his mess of white hair, Gilbert again faced his friends, this time with a wide grin he hoped they couldn't tell was forced.

"I think I'll just go get a coffee und vait for Matt to be done with his tests."

Still grinning from ear to ear, and with a spring to his step, Gilbert cheerily waved over his shoulder as he left the room, the door closing with a click behind him.

Alfred turned to Ivan again, "You think he's alright?"

"I do not." The Russian replied to his love, violet eyes moving from the door to rest on blue.

* * *

_Was ist los: What's going on?_

_Wo bist du: Where are you?_

_Es tut mir leid, ich war dort nicht!: I'm sorry I was not there!_

_Ich bin jetzt heir!: I'm here now!_

* * *

"Well…" the federal agent shrugged. There wasn't anything he could do about Gilbert's mental condition; indeed Alfred knew the man was in a difficult position, and a position that would likely only get worse before it improved. In truth, there wasn't a lot Agent Jones had control over at the moment, so he decided to focus on what little was actually in his power. The smile returning to his face, Alfred put one hand out on Ivan's broad chest and pushed, backing them both toward the bathroom. "I believe we still have some bandages to change."

The American hopped up to sit on the counter beside the sink as his Slavic beau turned his back, allowing Alfred to redress the knife wound just under his shoulder blade. Brow knit as he gingerly removed the bandage from the day before, Alfred washed the wound and redressed it in fresh gauze. He sighed, hands running along Ivan's arms as he turned to face him again. "Vanya, you've taken such damage." The blonde's fingers carefully graced wounds both old and new on his sweetheart's strong, but scar-marked arms.

There was the bullet wound on his right bicep from Christmas, reopened during the fight just the other day, and another just above the knee, also from Romano Vargas, which was thankfully on the mend, and then the knife wound under his shoulder blade and the various bruises from the Cheka operatives across his abdomen and jaw. Stung by guilt, Alfred bit at his lower lip as his gaze moved from the mottled bruises which marred his love's skin to Ivan's soft violet eyes. "I wish I could've…" The federal agent trailed off as one hand moved from Ivan's left arm to side.

"You wish you could have protected me?" The taller man's slight smile widened and his eyes glinted with mirth. "moy dorogoy letchik," Ivan brought one hand up to caress his love's chin; he tilted it toward him as he bent closer to the seated man. "Do you think this is worst I have looked?" He laughed heartily before bringing his lips to Alfred's. Rising from the kiss, Ivan's smile was confident. "I promise you, I have been in worse shape before."

A throaty chuckle bubbled up from Agent Jones as he winked. "Oh, da, Kapitan, invincible Mr. Braginski." Alfred's finger circled a bit of scar tissue on Ivan's side as his expression turned from flirtatious to serious. "What happened here?"

"Bayonet."

"Oh," Alfred looked up over his glasses, "Now, you see, this is the advantage to being airborne - less bayonets."

The Russian soldier laughed again, ruffling his right hand through his flyboy's hair, tousling the distinctive cowlick, "Oh yes, much safer to fall from sky than from horse."

"Hmph." The pilot was already moving on, now trailing his fingers up his love's pale chest. "And this? I meant to ask before," pink tinged his ears as Alfred went on, "each time you took off your shirt, but other distractions…" Hand roved over a series of small scars clustered across Ivan's right pectoral.

"Shrapnel."

"Ah," Alfred's eyes were already roving down to a semi-circular indentation at Ivan's hip. He pulled down at the waistline of his pants. "How have I missed _this_?!" He traced the crescent shape with one finger. "Horse shoe?"

Ivan reached down to take Alfred's hand in his, "I think, other distractions were again to blame, da?" Light laughter filled the small room again as Ivan pulled Alfred's hand, leading the other man down from the sink. "That one was very painful, I will not lie."

Reaching behind him, Ivan dropped Alfred's hand long enough to pull his sweater over his head and return the ever present scarf to his neck. "And now," One soldier reached to untuck the other's shirt, "your turn dorogoy."

Dress shirt off and in the sink behind him, undershirt pulled up beneath his chin, Alfred fought to hide the wince as Ivan removed the bandage at his side, and cleaned the wound with a swab of alcohol. "So…your scars, you will tell me of them?"

"Well, you know all the new ones," The agent began, pride in his battlescars evident in his voice, "this one was from Mrs. Edelstein last year," He moved his finger from the small scar of a bullet at the edge of his chest to a searing scrape near his belly button. "This was a close call; this one from her husband." He laughed, and pointed to a knife swipe across from where Ivan was placing the fresh bandages to his side, "this was from a couple of real ossified boobs when I raided their favorite gin joint." His laughter continued as Ivan unbuttoned his fly and sliding Alfred's trousers down to mid-thigh, began working on the gunshot wound to his hip.

"We have both taken much damage, da?" Ivan's long fingers wrapped around his American sweetheart's waist as he pulled the gauze tight, twisting the end off in a knot at the opposite hip.

Undershirt dropping from where he'd held it up under his chin, Alfred nodded, "Yeah I guess so, huh?" Blue eyes locked onto violet as Ivan stood. The Russian's hands still around the American's waist, between the wound to his hip and the one on his side, Ivan pulled Alfred close.

"This one is my favorite." Ivan raised one hand up to his lover's hairline and the scar whose origin he already knew.

"Yeah?" Alfred looked askance at the larger man. "Why's that baby?" The agent's grin betrayed his fishing for the answer he wanted, however, it was an answer Ivan had no problem giving.

Able to trust in the safety of Alfred's brother downstairs with Gilbert and a handful of police at his door and relishing the moment of peace and intimacy, a return to a less-heightened state of alert, Ivan pulled Alfred's uninjured hip toward his own, and moved his other hand through wild blonde locks, and down the agent's spine to rest in the lowest curve of the small of his back. "You know. It marks forever, the day you fell out of the blue, into my arms."

"Ha ha, well you know what," Alfred's lips were close to Ivan's neck as he spoke, "that's my favorite too."

* * *

_moy dorogoy letchik: my dear pilot_

_ossified boobs: drunk idiots_

* * *

The Gold Star Hotel

6:00 in the evening

The clock struck its sixth bell drawing Arthur's eyes. He could still hear the cadence of feet pacing above from where he leaned against the stairwell. Katyusha was at the front desk, a soft smile on her face as she wrote in a large leather bound book, taking down some random John's information. The madame met the dealer's eyes once as she strode out from behind the desk with her customer. Large blue eyes betrayed the worry hidden behind her smile and soft spoken words; worry caused by what they had overheard only minutes before.

Arthur nodded toward his lady-love and withdrew a calming joint from his pocket.

Katyusha conducted her business with only half attention; her mind was on what she'd heard her sister saying a few minutes ago instead of the man beside her choosing his companion for the evening. Looking across toward the shorter blonde man leaning nonchalantly against the stair rail, Katyusha wished she could be as cool and collected as her beau whose lips were parting around soft, white rings of smoke. In contrast, concern nagged at her heart as the folded paper envelope dug at her breast. A constant reminder of the words she'd written there, it wouldn't let her be, wouldn't allow her to forget the guilt digging deep into her chest. She should have called Ivan right away; she should have told him Natalya had stayed in Chicago…but she had been a coward, as afraid of her sister's wrath at her betrayal as well as her brother's that she had continued to see Arthur when he told her to stop.

But she was her own woman, the statuesque business woman reminded herself; she made her own decisions.

However, inaction had gotten her nowhere. Regardless of what Natalya had said to her, it was clear she was still bent on taking on the Italians. Regardless of the loss of life, of the fact it would never win Ivan's affections, that he didn't want the power and fortune sought by their younger sister, she was going on with her plan, no matter that it put all Katyusha had worked for in jeopardy.

"_Tomorrow morning before dawn I'll have my men hand-deliver these to the other bosses in the outfit." _Natalya's smooth words ran through her older sister's memory as her customer and his companion departed the lobby together. Lorenzo had been expressing some doubt and second thoughts about their plan, but all had been glossed over by Natalya's certainty, by her unwavering irascibility.

Katyusha blamed herself for not telling Ivan when she should have, that is, immediately upon learning he was in America. The madame chewed her lip as she returned to the front desk. All she'd wanted was to live a comfortable life, run her business in relative obscurity, avoid the factions in the city, the Irish, the Italian…she just wanted to run her little brothel and live in peace…

Thoughts cycled in a self-blaming loop; she should have realized peace would never again be hers while her little sister lived beneath her roof. The letter now nestled in her bosom would have to do what her tongue was too cowardly to accomplish. She slid her registration book beneath the desk and looked back to her man standing at the staircase blowing rings inside rings of smoke up toward the ceiling so high above. Tonight; she would take the letter to the hospital late after everyone was asleep and ask a nurse to deliver it to her brother. Katyusha didn't want trouble between Ivan and Arthur, so she would have to make sure the British dealer wasn't around when Ivan came by.

_Oh, if only_, she mused, _if only I could be as calm._

But as Arthur looked back to his buxom beauty, and started toward her, she had no idea how his heart pounded beneath his ribs. She couldn't know how conflicted his thoughts truly were.

Arthur's mind on repeat, he knew what he was doing was right, that this was the only way to go, that it was just good business sense, that Katyusha would be far happier, and he'd stand to make a lot more money in the ensuing chaos. However, betraying the most powerful man in the city did take some nerve, and to say he wasn't still a little worried would've been a lie, though what he'd smoked had done a fair bit of work toward making him worry a lot less.

He sucked the last bit of life from the rolled joint between his fingers then tossed the butt in the ashtray at the front desk.

The bell of the clock chimed once. It was half past 6; it had never been his intention to stay until Vargas showed. No, he and his dame would be long gone by then.

"Hey doll, I'm going for a stroll across the street for a bite." Arthur winked one emerald eye. "Can I bring you back a little something?"

His offer was rewarded with a genuine smile as Katyusha leaned forward on the desk and replied that she was awfully fond of the little pastries served at the late night diner. In minutes he was out the door; ostensibly on his way to pick up a little something sweet, covertly to make a phone call – a phone call which could pave his way to easy street just as it could bury him six feet under.

As soon as he'd bought his tea, a scone, and for Katyusha a cinnamon roll, Arthur's eyes went to the pay phone; he knew he needed just one more nudge of medicinal courage. Luckily he knew just where to get it. Holding his tea in one hand, the dealer left the warmth of the diner for the frigid Chicago winter. He stopped at the payphone and setting the little bag that held the pastries on top of the phone box, he lifted one knee and balanced his black bag upon it. Carefully, he opened the bag and withdrew a small vial of poppy's milk.

In moments his worries would fall away. Just a drop.

The little drop of liquid hit the tea and dissolved. Arthur brought the cup to his lips, the hot drink warming him against the cold as he knew the drug protected him against the anxiety over the consequences of his actions.

It wouldn't take long before he felt the effects. Arthur leaned casually against the payphone, his eyes were drawn to the upper story window where he could see two silhouettes, one still pacing, the other standing perfectly still.

Bag now at his feet, coffee in hand and a soothing buzz building in his mind, Green eyes stayed trained on the silhouettes across the street while his fingers found the nickel in his pocket.

No sooner had the dial tone appeared then it was followed by the operator's voice.

Arthur smiled into the receiver and spoke with confidence. "Hello there darling, Connect me to St. Luke's, please."

* * *

St. Luke's Hospital

6:40 in the evening

Red eyes looked into and past their own reflection in the glass of the recently mended window. Gilbert gazed down to the street below; the snow, no longer falling, had settled in drifts at the roadsides and piled against the sides of buildings. The pale man watched the flurries of white dust race across the streets, pushed by the incessant wind.

Elbows leaned against the sill where Ivan usually stood, only now, the broad Russian was asleep, leaning against the equally slumbering American. It had become somewhat of a pattern, that they would take turns sleeping, so someone was always awake in the hospital until Mathew was discharged.

Even more asleep than his twin brother, the Canadian professor reclined peacefully in his bed. Beside him sat the tray of partially eaten dinner brought by the nurse an hour ago, at his chest lay one of his books, open to the page he'd been reading.

Gilbert continued leaning on the sill, hands firmly in his pockets. His mind was split, half listening to the rhythm of his Mathew's slow breathes, to the occasional footsteps in the hall and distant hospital chatter between nurses, doctors, and patients. The other half of his attention however turned inward.

Where was the happy ending to this story? No matter how the future played out in his imagination, the end wasn't what he'd ever intended.

Fingers curled round the corners of the photo in his right pocket.

"Nein." The word breathed out in a low, imperceptive sigh. He wouldn't think of his brother right now. Trying to push the lingering images of the earlier nightmare from his mind, Gilbert turned from the window and began to pace the room.

He'd find a way to settle this all. He had to; afterall, he reminded himself, he was amazing at strategy and quick thinking! Feet traced a path on the tile while his mind worked overtime. Gilbert worked himself up in sureties that he'd figure it out – the solution to getting them all out of this. Really, if it weren't for Romano…

But then, confidence dropping, the small voice inside him told him there was no way the whole issue would be resolved without either bloodshed or a prison sentence, and a prison sentence would still mean bloodshed…his thoughts spun out of control, very much a train running off its rails. In the room, silent but for the federal agent's light snores, Gilbert began to panic.

He hated panic. Hated the feeling of hopelessness. The pale German stopped in his pacing momentarily and clenched his fists. He commanded his heart to calm, his lungs to settle.

Seeming more like his younger brother, a look of serious determination crossed his brow.

At last, he gained the upper hand against his physical and mental state; panic subsiding, Gilbert was left with only a silent sort of dread. He returned to walking the room, albeit at a slower pace.

Really, there was no way out…no way to fix the situation. The knowledge that there was no answer was an answer in itself. As he had done before, he ran over the possibilities in his head. Suppose he somehow, through his awesome charm and charisma, got Romano to drop his personal issue with him and Matthew…that still wouldn't solve the fact that Alfred wouldn't rest until Romano was behind bars, and Feliciano as well.

Now nearing the closed door, Gilbert leaned against the cool wood. Even if this highly unlikely event occurred and Romano and Feliciano just dropped it, offering Alfred an out to just not investigate their business, and the even more unlikely occurred, that Alfred actually went for that…There would still be the fact that Romano sent his Matt to the hospital with a bullet through his head.

Ice settled in his gut with a cold finality.

There was just no going back to the way it had been.

No matter what scenario he concocted – Alfred finding and arresting Romano, which would surely end in Feliciano buying the judge and continued attempts on all their lives, Romano continuing to be missing, but Feliciano arrested, which would yield the same results. Crimson eyes closed as his head leaned back against the door, scenarios continuing to run rampant through his head.

If another attempt on Matthew's life was made…

His heart clenched at the thought, blood racing to his face as his temper flared.

…and if it was successful…

Gilbert was certain Feliciano would send the only man he knew could get the job done at this point.

Eyes held firmly closed, the pale man was unable to even finish the thought in his head.

Another memory flashed across his mind, that of his younger self aboard a ship crossing the Atlantic. He'd looked to Romano with an exaggerated eye roll as they stood on the bow with their younger brothers. Feliciano had determined he would sketch Ludwig while the other had simply been sitting, looking back the way they'd left. That younger Gilbert had elbowed that younger Romano as they had laughed at his brother's pink cheeks and serious expression…

An involuntary grin crossed his face as what had happened next played out in his mind. The unexpected turbulence in the waters that shook them all, knocking Romano into Ludwig. While Feliciano had jumped up right away, to ask "Ludwig – are you ok?!" to which, Romano had replied with a cross, "What the hell, what about me?!" All of which, of course, had sent Gilbert into a fit of laughter so uncontrollable he had had to walk away.

The smile dropped from his face as soon as he realized its existence. That world was so far away, those men so far from who they were now.

Despair threatened in the one thought to which Gilbert keep returning. People were going to die; there was no way to avoid it. The question was who, and what part would he play? Gilbert knew already, that if Feliciano sent Ludwig to finish the job Romano had botched, to silence the witnesses to his original failure… well, he thought darkly, his little brother would have a decision to make, because Gilbert wasn't about to let anyone harm Mathew again.

What scared him was, he really didn't know what Ludwig would do.

With a sick feeling in his stomach, Gilbert's eyes opened. Someone was approaching in the hall outside. From the pace and sound on the tile, it had to be a nurse. Gilbert moved back from the door just as the woman opened it.

"Call for Agent Jones-" Her sentence died as she noticed the man asleep, his neck craned back against the wall, arms hanging at both sides, the silver-haired man leaning against his chest, equally unconscious. Ever the caretaker, knowledgeable in just how little sleep the federal agent had been getting, she whispered "Ah...could you?"

"Ja, of course." Gilbert began to follow her out the door but stopped short. Paranoia swarmed him; this could be a trick, The mafia could have someone watching him, could know he was the only one awake, could've even bribed this kind-seeming nurse to lure him from the room!

Backing up to the doorway again, he cleared his throat. "Is there a phone nearby that could be brought to this room?"

Exhaling in relief at her affirmative response, Gilbert watched her go, his moment of alert subsided. It would take something powerful to tear him from the hospital room, even for a moment. Fingers drummed on the door frame as he waited for her return. Not a thought was spared for the phone call or who the caller might be, instead Gilbert considered how long he had been at the hospital with Matt. He decided he would certainly need to do something nice for his employees and performers at the Roost, they had afterall kept him well informed and managed to keep the place running in his absence.

He was still wondering which wine to buy his best singer when the nurse returned, and handed him a phone on a very long cord. Gilbert expected to hear the police chief's voice on the other end, or perhaps one of Alfred's colleagues at the Bureau. Instead it was an English accent which greeted him, and the tell-tale sound of the wind that came from the use of an outdoor payphone.

"'Ello, Alfred."

Gilbert scoffed but the other man didn't hear; but continued talking "Listen close, I'm not going to repeat myself."

In no mood, Gilbert stepped fully out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He leaned back, kicking one foot out in front, with the other back and propped against the door, knee bent. He made a noncommittal grunt, deciding to be the agent for the time being.

"Don't be so sour, I'm about to make your career." As he spoke, Arthur's identity became clear; Gilbert stayed more or less silent as the dealer went on. "We were friends once, weren't we."

Red eyes rolled in doubt that anything the dope peddler had to say was worth his time. Gilbert made another noncommittal grunt.

Arthur looked to his watch. Good lord, was it 40 after already? Ignoring the silence on the other line, he spoke rapidly, informing the man he thought was the agent of just what career-making arrests he could make that evening in less than an hour. "See now, glad I rang aren't you?"

With each word spoken, Gilbert's grasp on the receiver had tightened. The Russian's sociopathic sister was still in town, apparently still plotting against the mafia - who in turn were planning nothing short of a massacre tonight at 7:15pm exactly! If Alfred got there right on time, he'd be able to arrest some big names – no doubt including his brother.

Gilbert's knuckles were tight around the telephone's stem, mouthpiece held close in his other hand as the Brit went on. "And here's the best bit," Gilbert could hear the other man's smile in his voice; Arthur was relishing whatever information he had to divulge.

"Go on," Gilbert put on his best American accent, trying to capture Alfred's particular inflections.

Apparently it worked, because the other man kept talking as though he'd not noticed anything odd about the voice to whom he spoke. "As I'm sure you can guess, Romano Vargas isn't in Italy." The Englishman's voice was smug. "He's here in Chicago, and has been ever since Christmas." Arthur paused for effect, the silence on the other line was nothing short of delicious. "I saw him today, and at 7:15pm he'll be at the Gold Star."

Silence again. It was unlike Alfred to be this quiet. Arthur might have thought they'd been disconnected but for the slow exhale coming over the line. He shifted his shoulders to adjust the collar of his jacket a bit higher to block the cold as he went on, "I know how much you'd like to get your hands on the man who shot your brother, hmm?"

Back in the hospital, far from the windswept street, Gilbert's chest had gone cold as Arthur continued talking, the other man's words rushed, he seemed pressed for time. "

The warm buzz was growing in Arthur's head; the cold seemed to hold less bite, his worries dropped further and further away. It all seemed a bit humorous to him now as he took a last long draught of tea. The laughter bubbled up through the words now moving slowly off his tongue, "I think we all know you'd do just about anything to get those Italians behind bars. I mean, you like to play the hero, but you can't be everywhere all the time, can you?" He went on hurriedly, not allowing for an answer. "We both know where Romano will go after the Gold Star – have you ever heard of a witness that lived? I'd be watching out if I were you - but for this information, I think we can work out a deal, you and I, old boy."

With a click the line went dead.

Arthur chuckled as he hung up as well, and tossing the empty paper cup into a nearby bin, he gathered himself to head back across the street. The dealer pulled out his pocket watch. 6:42pm.

"That didn't take long, did it?" For all appearances he spoke to himself, but to the Brit's eyes a shimmering little fairy had just appeared in front of him. "Yes, thank you Tink." he nodded to her reply, something only his ears could hear. "He seemed a bit odd, but things are going quite according to plan."

A whistle on his lips, and spring in his step, Arthur crossed the street, nearly skipping as he avoided patches of ice and snow. No one passerby noticed as he chatted with his invisible companion. "But Tink, don't you need a coat? It's horrid weather tonight." He laughed lightly as he approached the Gold Star's door again. Stooping to make a few marks with a piece of chalk he'd brought out of his pocket, Arthur chiding the fairy "You silly girl – you better get back to Neverland before you catch cold!"

Waving goodbye to what appeared to be thin air around him, the doctor opened the door wide and strode in with a smile.

* * *

Across town in the hospital, the mood couldn't have been more different.

His chest like ice, his head swimming in possibility, Gilbert held the phone in his hands as though it was an enemy he meant to strangle.

Feet carried him to the nurse's station without waiting for an order from his brain. Silently, he sat the phone on the desk. The nurse looked up, her expression quizzical.

"I have been called avay." Gilbert heard himself speaking as though disembodied. "I have to go. Do you have something on vhich I can write a message?"

Again, his body acted of its own accord as he leaned in and scrawled a quick note.

_Emergency at Roost. _

_Be back soon._

_-Gil_

His voice continued to work out its own plan as he told the nurse to make sure the detectives at the stairs and elevator were moved to directly outside Matthew's room.

Seeing she nodded, he turned round and strode purposefully back to the room himself. Once there, Gilbert carefully opened the door so as not to wake his sleeping companions.

One arm inside his coat, crimson eyes turned toward the man he loved. Mathew slept on; the medication he'd been given ensured his sleep was uninterrupted by seizure or nightmare. Gilbert's heart constricted painfully; the thought flew through his mind as it had so often – he knew his kind, intelligent man would get better, knew he was strong.

However, in this time of vulnerability, it was Gilbert's job to make sure he was safe. This was why someone was always awake in the room, why he hadn't gone back to work since Christmas…

Torn, he was afraid to leave again, yet he knew this was something he had to take into his own hands. He'd assure Mathew's safety from now on…

Wings fluttered and a little weight landed on his shoulder. "Gilbird, you can't come vith me this time." The bird fluffed his feathers, but stayed silent as the man lifted him in one hand. Somehow, the bird seemed to sense his human's mood. "Go on," Gilbert whispered to the chick. "Bleibst du mit Mathew?"

The yellow ball of fluff nuzzled against his cheek and fluttering silently to the bed where he perched on the headboard behind the sleeping man.

The Canadian's chest rose and fell in slow, deep slumber. One arm moved up to rest on the pillow above his head.

Gilbert's eyes moved only reluctantly from his lover's sleeping form as he backed silently from the room. Alfred's light snoring could still be heard as well as Ivan's deep, slow, breathing. It seemed the Russian was free of his frequent nightmares tonight, head resting on the American's chest.

But Gilbert could spare no more thought for them, as he cautiously closed the door.

Nodding once to the cops, men Alfred had personally chosen, he nevertheless made mental note of their faces and the names on their badges before he turned and walked down the hall. Feet moving inexorably toward his destination, the pale man's thoughts were clear and cold as ice.

Romano was still in town, as they had all suspected.

_Romano… _Gilbert sighed as he entered the stairwell, a man he'd called his friend, someone who'd wanted to be more, and Gilbert knew in another world, he might've gone for it…but in this one, he'd fallen in love with Matthew and he'd been as surprised to find himself in love as he'd been to find Romano's unexpected attraction to be so very…unforgiving, and Alfred to be so resistant to bribes, and then of course, Ivan's crazy sister had to have her own designs on the city…

As he reached the first floor and opened the door to the frigid night air, Gilbert's rambling train of thought crashed on the unavoidable destination to which it had been traveling earlier. The professional animosity that had existed between Alfred and Feliciano had become permanently personal through the actions of two men in particular, himself and Romano. As he dusted the snow from the seat of his motorcycle, he knew there was no easy end to this chain of events. He had as good as caused the misery that had hounded his beloved scholar, but he could be the one to end it as well.

One way or another.

Wind whipped past as he drove, surely faster than was smart along the iced city streets. His gloved hands clenched in fists around the handles of his ride, Gilbert prepared himself; he knew it could very well be his death to which he rode so fast; tonight he knew he would either be killed or have to kill.

* * *

_Bleibst du mit Mathew? – You'll stay with Mathew?_

* * *

While the bartender had spoken with the dealer, his brother was blocks away, in his boss and lover's penthouse.

Feliciano faced the standing mirror. One hand in his pocket as the other dropped from straightening his tie. The boss looked up at the approaching footsteps he recognized as belonging to his loyal capo.

"The time is 40 after." Ludwig's jaw was set, his stoic expression almost covering the nerves that showed at the standing veins at his neck. Large hands moved to his slender boss's hips as the taller man stood behind the shorter. "Are you ready, Süßer?"

Caramel golden eyes turned to sapphire in their reflection. "Si. Mio amore." Feliciano's hands found Ludwig's at his hips; fingers interlaced as they paused for a moment more in front of the mirror.

"Veh…" The sigh was a breath of a wish, "I could stand with you like this for an eternity, Ludwig."

The broad shouldered blonde bent down to speak intimately in his love's ear, his grip tighter on his Feliciano's hips. But no sooner were Ludwig's lips parted to speak than he was silenced by chiding derision in the form of a snort from behind.

"Well ya can't, can you?" The elder Vargas brother stood behind the other men. Romano's hands firmly planted on his hips. "It's time to go damnit!"

Feliciano turned from the mirror to face his brother as Ludwig buried his hands in his coat pockets. The capo watched the two brothers in silence as they argued, brow knitted as he listened and weighed conclusions on his own.

"I still don't like it fratello; you could be seen." Concern plain on his face, Feliciano took a step toward his brother. "Just stay here, alright?"

"And be a nothing but a bumbling fool whose only made things worse? No fucking way." Romano brought his arms up to cross against his chest. "I'm coming and I'm gonna help you clean up this shit with the Belorussian, then I'm gonna clean up the shit with Jones…and his brother."

The boss put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Ludwig and I have a plan for Jones and the others."

"Yeah?" hazel brown eyes turned slits. "You do, huh? Why the fuck didn't you clue me in?"

Taken aback, Feliciano retreated as Ludwig came forward. "Veh!" He sighed and threw his hands in the air, "We only just thought of it, Romano!"

"Yeah, yeah…" The older brother flipped his hand disbelieving.

Ludwig crossed his arms, frustrated and exhausted from confining his constant concerns, he forgot for a moment that Feliciano's brother outranked him.

The German mirrored the Italian's stance, arms crossed tight against his broad chest. "Scheiße, do you have to be so difficult?!" Ludwig's voice had come out at a much higher volume than intended.

_Verdammt es,_ Ludwig reminded himself of the fact that, even though they had been getting along better of late, Romano possessed a short temper, and did, in fact, outrank him. The capo corrected himself, continuing more calmly. "I suggested it only earlier today."

"Well tell me about it then, you damn potato." Fierce hazel brown eyes challenged any further aggression as Romano's hands flew back to hips, grey suit jacket swept aside to reveal the pistol beneath it.

"Romano!" Feliciano stepped forward again, exasperated. "Ti prego! Volete mai diventare amici?"

Ludwig watched Feliciano rattle off the plan in rapid Italian. His love's melodic voice flowed from word to word as Ludwig watched the minutes tick by on the clock at the opposite wall. Ludwig's thoughts found comfort in planning, each minute in the future was his to organize, he walked himself through a variety of scenarios they could meet at the Gold Star while the brothers talked in their native tongue.

It was only an all too familiar name whose speaking had cut through his thoughts like a knife, bringing his attention fully back to Feliciano and Romano's conversation.

"…e…Gilbert?" Romano's stance all but screamed that he couldn't care less; the name fell from his lips as if he might forget it as soon as he'd spoken it.

Feliciano however, had always had a gift for seeing through his brother's façade. The conversation came to a halt.

After a moment, the don spoke again. "I know you care for him fratello, and so do I of course…" Feliciano looked over his shoulder to meet his love's expression. He did care about Gilbert, and hadn't wanted to face the fact that something might have to happen to Ludwig's older brother. Feliciano knew it was naïve, but hope still held out, hope that somehow they could bring Gilbert back into the fold.

However, Romano's hands moved again, from hips to fists held tightly at his side, "I don't give a fuck what happens to him!" The hot-headed Italian faced first his own brother , "He's nothing to me!", then locked eyes with Gilbert's brother, his finger pointing out a warning "No one turns on my family and goes buddy with the feds!", before looking back toward his own brother again, hands flying up as if a shield. "Don't a-look at me like that damnit Veneziano!"

Feliciano opened his mouth to reply, but his brother cut him off, hands still raised as he turned and stomped toward the door. "We'll be fucking late if we don't go!"

Feliciano stood for a moment, staring after his brother who'd just slammed the door, no doubt to pace the hall outside until they came along.

Ludwig's voice was clear and crisp, breaking the spell that had held Feliciano in place. "Romano is right; the time is 10 until 7."

The petite mafioso spun on his heel and threw himself into his capo's arms. "Veh," the sigh escaped into Ludwig's broad chest, Feliciano's words following rapidly, each buried into the other man's coat. "I do care for Gilbert, Ludwig, I haven't forgotten his friendship." Caramel eyes sought sapphire and held them as he prayed his German love truly understood him. "I don't want anything to happen to your brother. All he has to do is come back to us; I'll forgive him in an instant."

"I know." Ludwig's hands ran along Feliciano's slender arms as the taller man bent to kiss his beloved's cheek. A small smile broke the stoic expression as Ludwig whispered "und this nature of forgiveness is vhat I love most about you."

The light that lit his boss and lover's face as Feliciano pulled back was a balm, partially soothing to his breaking heart. The capo walked behind the man he loved above all in the world as Feliciano picked up his coat and hat on the way out. They would meet the other men in the lobby.

Closing the door behind them as they strode toward where Romano waited at the elevator, Ludwig was silent. He knew Feliciano would take his lack of chatter as normal, afterall he took each job he did with utmost seriousness. However, his silence this night was cover for the aching pain in his heart. Ludwig knew his brother would never do as Feliciano hoped.

Again Ludwig put his older brother from his mind. Tonight was for dealing with Arlovskaya; tomorrow he could afford to worry about Gilbert.

* * *

_Ti prego! Volete mai diventare amici?: Please! Would you ever become friends?_

* * *

_...The story continues in Chapter 22…._

_Thanks again for your patience!_


	22. Chapter 22

_Chapter 22 It's Just Business. I really don't think I have to say it again, but character death. (this was the original part 2 to Chapter 21 that I didn't want to post a 70 page chapter lol)_

_Without further ado-_

* * *

Time ticked by as several things happened across the city; The mobsters got into their cars, each driver heading toward the same destination. A destination where Arthur stood pleading with Katyusha to come out with him, but the Gold Star was full and the madame was reluctant to leave on such a busy night.

A neighborhood or two away another den of vice stood empty.

* * *

The Roost

6:50pm

Gilbert stood at the cash register behind the bar; crimson eyes cool, detached, distant. The lounge had been emptied of all patrons as soon as he'd arrived and announced the Roost was closing early.

The register opened with a ding and soon all the cash of the day, several hundred dollars, was in his hands. "Listen," Gilbert leaned on the bar and spoke while splitting the money into equal stacks, one for each of the four employees working that night. "You've all been firing on all sixes lately, und so," He paused, looking them each in the eye, each of the people he was about to render unemployed. "I vant you to take off tonight, and consider these," he gestured toward the cash, "as a bonus."

"You ok, Mr. Beilschmidt?" It was a cheery redheaded cocktail waitress who asked, concern clear across her face. "I've never seen you so-"

"Ja, I'm fine." He cut her off with a wide grin, more characteristic of his usual demeanor. The pale man laughed and poured himself a beer from the tap hidden below the bar. Taking a long swig, Gilbert hoped they'd clear out before he had to walk them to the door himself.

But there they were, still staring at him.

"Go on now. I'm serious." He walked out from behind the bar, and slapped his two bartenders on the back, while winking toward the waitress. "Go have some fun. Get far avay from here tonight; you've been working too hard."

Finally, success! After the exclamations of "thanks for the bonus boss!" and "goodnight Mr. Beilschmidt!" at last he was alone.

Gilbert downed the rest of the beer and glanced at the clock on the back wall as he lit a cigarette and brought it to his lips. The time was 6:55.

The capo's brother allowed himself a slow exhale as he took the cigarette from his lips and held it in one hand. With the other, he retrieved several bottles of the strongest spirits he carried. Whistling, the pale German poured the liquor out along the bar. The booze splashed to the stools and dripped onto to the floor to puddle around the bar.

Wry laughter bubbled up to the surface as Gilbert stopped to laugh aloud. He knew, were anyone there to see him he'd surely look mad, pouring out all this money, which he was prepared to literally burn. A crooked smile turned his face, but didn't reach his eyes. He continued pouring, walking around his club.

That was when he realized he hadn't been alone after all.

"Mon dieu! What are you doing?" The French crooner had been in his dressing room behind the stage. Francis moved swiftly forward, blue eyes wide in surprise.

"Francis." Gilbert looked up as he emptied the second bottle and grabbed the third. Shrugging, his answer came in a chuckle, so sure he was becoming that he'd not live through the night. "I'm going to war." Third bottle empty, he took hold of a fourth and walked across the open space of the stage and dance area. "Vhatever happens tonight, I'll not be coming back here."

Stunned, the singer's mouth was open; fragments of sentences struggled to the surface. "Quoi? Vous..pourquoi?"

Gilbert paused in his whistling to state the obvious. "I am burning the place to the ground."

The Frenchman shook his head. His words so low beneath his breath they were indiscernible. "Fou de Allemands."

Gilbert continued to whistle as he emptied the last bottle. Suddenly he looked back up and slapped a hand to his forehead. "Francis, I'm sorry." He gestured with the now empty bottle toward his office behind the bar. "Under my desk you vill find a safe, the key is taped to the bottom of the top drawer. Take out a few hundred dollars for yourself and then make sure you have everything you vant from your dressing room."

Francis moved quickly; he couldn't believe what he was seeing. What had happened to bring about this change? He hoped the agent's brother was still living. This question was on his tongue, as well as an expression of gratitude as soon as he returned from the office, cash in hand. It was a question he was never to ask.

Gilbert walked past Francis in a blur, and while tossing all the rest of the money into a duffel bag, he reached for the loaded pistol in his desk.

Speaking over his shoulder, the German reminded his French friend, "Get vhatever you don't vant to lose from the dressing room, you have one minute."

No sooner had Francis turned to hurry backstage than Gilbert remembered the smug voice on the line, the laughter at the mention that the Vargas brothers left no witnesses. "Francis, wait!" He called back, standing now, duffle bag over his shoulder, gun in one hand, cigarette in the other.

The Frenchman popped his head back into the office, a single eyebrow raised in interest.

"I'm going to the Gold Star." Gilbert's words were flat. "Kirkland vill be there."

Francis' eyes flashed wide before cooling, his warm blue turning cold as steel. Without a word, the singer pulled shoulder length blonde hair back from his face in a low ponytail then turned and ran back toward his dressing room.

Gilbert waited and watched his cigarette begin to dwindle toward the butt; however, in no more than half a moment Francis had returned.

"So vill most of the Mafia." Gilbert's gaze was downcast, drawn to his reflection in the pools of liquor as he spoke.

"It does not matter." Francis started toward the back door, everything of value in a shoulder bag slung across his chest. The now former bootlegger stopped his singer one more time. "You vant a ride?"

As Francis accepted the offer and stood in the open backdoor, Gilbert laid his still lit cigarette on the bar soaked by gin, bourbon, and whiskeys.

Bright blue flame sped along the bar, down in drops of fire to the stools and across the floor, it crackled, lighting up the patterns Gilbert had walked as he poured.

In an instant, fire licked up the walls and ran across the ceiling, roaring its blue fury, burned through the hidden panel of the bar to find the reserves of booze that exploded bottle after bottle in liquid flame and broken glass.

But Gilbert had already gone. Out the door as soon as the first flame burst to life, he now sped over icy streets, his engine roaring beneath him, blasts of frozen northern wind tossed his snow-colored hair as he sped, unable to hear if his companion said a word, only barely registering Francis's hold around his waist as he drove.

* * *

_Quoi? Vous..pourquoi?: What? You…why?_

_Fou de Allemands: Crazy Germans_

* * *

The Gold Star

6:59pm

"Come on Lovey, you work too hard." Arthur had succeeded in pulling his Ukrainian beauty toward the back door and nearer her office; he held her hands in his, emerald eyes looking up into soft blue. "You deserve a night out."

"Arthur, dorogoy," She sighed half amused, half exasperated, "I think you have sampled too much of your wares." Smiling, she shook her head, turning back toward the front. "I cannot go out tonight; tomorrow ok?"

As the British dealer argued and put all his charm to the test, several cars were arriving outside.

* * *

The tall German capo exited the first car and turned to open the door for his boss. Feliciano strode out from the car with confidence, followed by his brother and closest friends.

The snow had stopped falling, now swirling along the street in eddies of white, it gathered in piles beside the road, the new, pristine layer covering the blackened older remnants of yesterday's drifts. Golden light spilled onto the road from the street lamps above, glittering on the virginal snow. Tendrils of fog snaked into the neighborhood from the east.

Ludwig knew this meant driving east toward Lake Michigan would be dangerous, as surely the Near North was inundated with fog for it to reach this far East, but at the same time, the fog would provide a good cover if a fast getaway was needed.

The feeling of a hand on his arm brought the German back from his mental notation. His love stood close, leaning in with a whisper, "We can't let anyone else find those photos, Ludwig."

The other men were now all, out of their cars and making their way toward Don Vargas and his group. Each family had sent two of their best men, and this brought their number to twelve. However, worry knotted Feliciano's stomach; he couldn't chance these men finding that photo the Belarusian held like gold. He couldn't chance any of them having the opportunity to talk to Lorenzo for fear he would have a copy on hand.

Don Vargas exhaled a low sigh and adjusted the scarf around his neck. Spring couldn't come fast enough; this winter had seemed to go on forever. "You six," he pointed one gloved hand to the other men, "circle the building; two stay in front, two on the side entrance, and two in the back. Let the working girls leave if they run out, but everyone else gets a bite of lead, got it?"

The German watched his Italian lover work; Feliciano giving out the orders they had both discussed earlier in the day with such confidence and surety. The other men would watch the exits, ready to drop anyone who ran, while the six of them would enter through the front, find their targets, kill anyone in their way, and dispose of the evidence.

Feliciano turned back toward Ludwig as they approached the Gold Star; the German's heart sped as his eyes were drawn to the other man's lips, comprehending the few syllables wordlessly mouthed in silence.

"Ti Amo."

There was no time for a response before they were at the door.

Jaunty music played within from the phonograph nearly, but not quite, drowning the sound of chatter from a busy night just beginning. Noticing the white chalk marks on the stone, Ludwig, now standing at the front, turned back toward the others with first all ten, and then two fingers raised denoting the number of men the Belarusian had managed to gather since their last run-in.

Cold wind blew in in a gust from the northeast, like pinpricks of ice it left cheeks flushed and bones chilled. Feliciano shivered in the wind, one finger on the trigger of his gun, the other adjusting his scarf closer to his face. The boss stood ready, surrounded by those he trusted most. In front, the man he loved prepared to kick in the door and make their entrance. To his side stood his brother and just behind him, the married assassins, and armed with his sword, Kiku had their back, his last remaining yakuza brother keeping a look out on the street.

Feliciano's eyes again found his beloved's; he nodded once. It was time they get this over with.

Feliciano's nod was all Ludwig needed.

* * *

Bang!

The door burst inward with one well aimed kick. Amidst the startled screams and yells of those within, it swung back on broken hinges to slam against the wall. Icy wind accompanied the bullets that cut through the air; a warning to all inside, they found homes not in bodies but in walls, furniture, and floorboards.

"Nobody move!" Ludwig bellowed into the room filled with panicked working girls and their customers. Neither Natalya nor Lorenzo were visible, and all the men and women in the lobby or on the stairs had come to a complete stop, eyes wide, their stares directed entirely toward him as he spoke. Having come in first, Ludwig stood at the fore, but moved to the right as he finished his sentence at a lower register. "unless you do not value your life, of course."

Feliciano took the place Ludwig had made for him, striding forward to stand beside the tall blonde, Romano took up Feliciano's other side with Kiku again keeping the rear as Elizaveta and Roderich automatically spread out to search the building.

"Don't worry ladies," the petite mafioso addressed the frightened women, some clutching little handguns, others simply attempting to melt into the wall behind them. "We have no business with you; so long as you stay out of the way you won't get hurt."

The capo's cool blue eyes scanned the room as his boss and lover spoke. Doctor Kirkland, though neither he nor the madam of the establishment were anywhere to be seen, had informed them well. There were 12 armed men in the lobby beside the smattering of Johns with their escorts. Natalya's recruits were young men, a year or two below Ludwig's own years. A bit of pity twisted the soldier's stomach; none looked particularly comfortable with his weapon and all appeared as though they wanted to be anywhere but standing where they were.

If they were smart, they'd surrender now and speak up about their Belarusian boss's whereabouts. _If they were smart. _Most of the men Ludwig had faced had not taken the smart option when it had been offered. Eyes taking in the entire room, the capo held his gun at the ready while the boss continued.

Feliciano smoothly went on, his smile a ray of sunlight. "In fact," he began, winking once toward the room, "I believe you were all upstairs when I got here, and we didn't see each other at all."

Those magic words brought movement again to the stillness as all of Katyusha's girls and their companions made their way hastily up the stairs.

The soft spoken Italian looked to the men who stood standing in the lobby, the twelve. Feliciano wondered if Natalya had told them what price they might pay for their loyalty.

"See, I'm a patient man," Feliciano's words were kind though the threat was clear, "but I'm not very happy when I have to ask twice, so tell me-" The petite boss sighed visibly, "Veh.." Loosening his scarf and unbuttoning the top few buttons of his black winter coat now that he was in the heat of the indoors, Feliciano paused before continuing, "Where is Arlovskaya?"

Silence.

Don Vargas looked over his shoulder to his beloved capo. Feliciano knew his thought was shared in Ludwig's mind as the blue eyed man shrugged; it was astounding how the Belarusian managed to recruit and keep so many men, whether through fear, loyalty to her empty honeyed words, or what, he couldn't fathom why they didn't give up when faced with the chance.

But the silence didn't last long. Before Feliciano could open his mouth to speak again, a female voice called out from the back, "We have the next best thing!" The words belonged to Elizaveta. All eyes looked to the hall at the end of which was the madam's office and the exit into the alley, as the bruised assassin reappeared standing proudly, Elizaveta guided the taller woman at gun point.

"Her sister should know where she is, shouldn't she?"

At Elizaveta's side, her husband dragged the British dealer by the arm. "Thank you, Dr. Kirkland, for your help." Roderich's voice was ice. "But Don Vargas won't be needing your services any further." The aristocratic hitman forced the shorter man to his knees, placing his pistol squarely at the back of the dealer's head.

"Piss off, you dirty wanker!" The shorter blonde fought the taller man's hold in vain.

It wasn't the gun's barrel at the back of his head, but his name on his lady's lips that brought an end to his struggle.

"Arthur?"

Head bowed beneath the pressure of the taller man's gun, Arthur lifted his chin as much as possible, emerald eyes turning up as far as he could to meet those of soft blue.

His earlier high now fading fast, the Englishman's heart split in two as he came down, his stomach churned in sudden and deep regret. There was hurt in his statuesque dame's eyes and tears building in beads along her bottom lashes.

The words stuck in his throat. What could he say?

Lips parted to speak, but Katyusha closed her eyes, breaking their contact. The hot tear that dropped down her cheek was the only sign of her breaking heart at the words he finally managed to speak.

"I'm sorry, Kat…I…"

But his sentence would never be finished. A derisive snort announcing her entrance, Natalya Arlovskaya appeared at the top of the stairs, her pawn Lorenzo, behind her. Teeth sinking into each word, she relished each syllable as they flew from her tongue, "What did I tell you? He could not be trusted; Lzhets!"

And in less than a second she moved, setting many things in motion at once.

Haughty laughter cut the air as did the silver streak of a knife now flying toward the woman holding a gun to her sister's back. Natalya's words now little less than screams, she turned toward the rest of the lobby before the knife had even hit home. Eyes fixed on Feliciano, Natalya screamed. "Looking for me were you?!"

In less than a second she'd reached behind her to Lorenzo, and before anyone could take note, she took hold of the hand that held his gun, brought it forward, aimed and squeezed, pressing his finger to the trigger with her own.

Chaos came with Natalya's attack. The Austrian assassin kicked his captive to the ground and moved to push his wife from the knife's trajectory. From where he fell to the ground, Arthur heard Katyusha's knees hit the floor as his face did the same.

A shot was fired into the floor from Feliciano's gun, where it ricocheted off into the room as Ludwig grabbed him by the arm, pulling his love from the bullet's path. Blood speeding through his body, Ludwig's ears were hot with self turned anger as he raised his tommy gun, a spray of bullets tearing up the stairs. How had he let her even appear without his bullet in her skull?

Ludwig chastised himself mentally; he should have been watching more carefully.

"Schiesse!" The German swore as he saw the hem of the Belarusian's skirt disappear around the edge of the landing, her order echoing back to his ears as though from a long distance.

"Kill them!"

Injured ear ringing, Ludwig's left arm was being tugged. Looking down, he realized it was Feliciano's hand gripping his arm, pulling him from the center of the room.

"Danke, Lieber." The blonde met his love's eyes as Feliciano set up, his pistol perched on the edge of an overturned bookshelf that had become their shelter. On his knees, Ludwig squatted and pressed close to Feliciano, shoulder to shoulder, they began to trade shots back and forth with Arlovskaya's men.

"Are you ok, Ludwig?" Feliciano's voice was raised, yelling over the chaos.

His love didn't answer.

Worry snagged his heart; could Ludwig not hear him? Looking to the nasty bruise still marring his strong man's ear and temple, Feliciano chewed his bottom lip in concern as his bullet just missed his opponent's neck, the other man ducking behind a chair just in time

They may have been young and untested, but the men the mobsters now faced were fighting for their lives. Feliciano couldn't afford to be distracted. He noted his love was using his semi automatic Red 9 instead of the Thompson submachine gun, and knew one weapon was louder than the other. Feliciano made a note to ask about this later, but now wasn't the moment.

Hearing loss or no, it didn't seem to matter much; the German capo's blue eyes were slits of concentration as he leveled his gun, and with a crack of bone and sickening thud of a body on the wood floor, hot lead dropped the man with whom he'd been sparing.

One of two down the capo noted; Ludwig didn't take a moment to look around at anyone else but his Feliciano next to him, who ducked down behind the bookcase as a bullet soared between them.

From where he knelt, bent low behind the bookcase, Feliciano reloaded and looked around the lobby. His brother stood behind a corner, shooting out at an assailant trading blows with Kiku. Elizaveta was pounding up the stairs two at a time after Natalya, clearly the knife had missed it's mark.

It was remarkable how much had happened in the span of about two minutes.

However, his own pistol now reloaded, Feliciano leaned against his German sweetheart's broad back, his gaze going now to where the Belarusian's knife had indeed landed.

Blood poured from Roderich's slashed sleeve where the knive's hilt had stuck his arm. Woozily, Roderich held the knife in his left hand while blood gushed down his right arm, staining his soft blue coat with sticky red blood which drained from his now ghostly face. It was clear the knife had struck the artery on the underside of his bicep.

"Roderich?" Ludwig paused, dropping below the bookcase as well, following his love's gaze.

Caramel eyes met blue as Feliciano spoke the two words that signaled his intent to move toward his long-time friend, "Cover me."

"Ja, of course." Ludwig jumped back up to his knees from where he'd slumped against the back of their overturned wooden shelter, and in one shot dropped the man who'd stood, incorrectly thinking his opponents had run out of ammo.

One, two, three fell from the capo's bullets as the boss crossed the room. Running across the lobby, Feliciano jumped over Arthur laying prone on the floor without a thought on his way to Roderich.

* * *

_Lzhets: (Belarussian) Liar_

* * *

The doctor, sprawled on the floor, covered his head as shots were fired from all angles. Slowly he turned to the side in an attempt at getting ahold of the situation. Don Vargas was tying off a hastily made tunicate on his friend's upper arm, while the Austrian wavered, clearly fighting to keep consciousness, the German's bullets flying through the air, kept all away from the boss and injured assassin.

He turned his head in the other direction.

He hadn't seen Katyusha run for cover behind the front desk, but now there she was, laying behind it; the shelf that had held the tea cups, saucers, and samovar fallen in a heap of splinters and broken china atop her. One elegant arm outstretched as a single rivulet of crimson blood ran along the floor toward limp fingertips.

"Ekaterina!" Arthur's anguished yell barely reached above the din of gunshots as he moved across the floor toward where she lay.

The Brit never reached his Ukrainian dame however, as hot lead sliced the air between them and suddenly he knew he'd have no hope of crossing the floor in that direction. Instead he had only one chance to escape out the back and he took it, crawling along the blood-flecked floor.

Clearly, the mafia had been planning a double cross as long as he had. Arthur's blood boiled in impotent rage at the knowledge. At least he would have some form of revenge if the feds could arrive before the Vargas' left. He didn't have a way to check the time, but surely it was getting closer to 7:15. He knew Alfred would be there.

As Arthur made his way along the ground toward the back, the men from whom he was fleeing had more on their mind.

Ludwig caught his opponent's pistol as the other man fell backward onto his fellow's bodies in the now quickly growing pool of blood.

Five down. The capo mentally counted; there were only seven left.

No, six. Ludwig corrected his count as Kiku's crimson-stained sword glistened in the light of the swinging chandelier overhead.

The glittering glass of the chandelier spinning threw sparkles around the lobby, as it caught his attention, the ringing in Ludwig's ear intensified. For a split second darkness encroached on his vision as his stomach churned with nausea.

The German commanded his body to get it together, _Kontrolle wiedererlangen, Ludwig! _ However, this was ignored by his damaged ear which rebelliously continued to ring, everything in the room reduced to sounding as if coming from down a long tunnel. Though, thankfully the room stopped spinning, his vision returning to normal, well, mostly normal. Ludwig noted things were a little blurrier than he was used to…

But it was good enough, and whether his ear was working or not, Ludwig wasn't about to let it interfere with how he did his job, and his job was keeping Feliciano alive.

Never letting his love out of his sight, the capo swiveled on his heels, turning to whip one of Arlovskaya's men in the face with the machine gun he wasn't using, still held in his left grip in case the pistol in his right wasn't enough. With a thud on the floor behind him, Ludwig heard the 7th man drop.

Blue eye's turned back to where his love had been only to see that Feliciano had now moved to aid his brother behind a couch across the room on the other side of the staircase. Romano's bullet dropped one of the three they faced as the two brothers traded shots with Arlovskaya's men.

Lifting his gun, Ludwig aimed for the head of the man closest to Feliciano.

However, before he could squeeze the trigger, Elizaveta was in the way, leaping down the stairs. As her husband ran forward, she ducked a bullet fired from beyond the top landing. Though right handed, Roderich shot left handed up the stairs at the unseen opponent, face blanched from the amount of blood loss he'd incurred.

The Hungarian's green eyed gaze first settled on her husband's bloodied arm, before waving a ribbon tied bundle of manila envelopes in the air bringing all eyes to her upraised hand, Elizaveta called out "I've got them!"

And then in a blur of platinum hair and dark blue dress, Natalya was upon her. The Belarusian jumped from the landing to knock into the Hungarian's back. The women rolled down the stairs together, fists collided with still bruised lips, fingers closed around long as well as short locks to pull heads back as knees met kidneys, stomachs, and noses, elbows flying into cheekbones and ribcages alike as the women pulled no punches, brawling across the Gold Star's now blood splattered floor.

There was no way to tell who had the upper hand between Natalya and Elizaveta, the two fought too close and too fast, now banging into the wall. It was clearer however, to see who was getting the upper hand between Roderich and Lorenzo. The Austrian's face went whiter with each blow he took.

The tommy gun's spray would again be too indiscriminate for close combat; thinking fast, Ludwig raised his pistol and took aim for his target. Before he could fire, a sound drew his attention elsewhere. It was the empty, echoing click of a weapon out of ammo.

Stomach falling, he spun on his heel. He'd taken his eyes from Feliciano; Roderich was a friend, but he'd simply have to be ok on his own for a moment longer.

His love crouched low behind the couch with his brother, both men divvying up the ammunition they had left on the floor between them as more flew over head from the two men they faced on the other side of the stairs.

"Feliciano!" Ludwig bellowed, running for cover, one knee dropped to the floor beside the desk behind which the madam still lay. The capo leaned forward, and fired one shot into the barrel of a gun peeking out from around a corner aimed for the boss and his brother.

There had been five of Arlovskaya's men when last he'd counted; but now only two were visible. The last three must be together; Ludwig's shot had only knocked the gun from the other man's hand; he looked to both directions as he bent low over the floor.

"Feli!" The capo's voice rang out over the din as he pushed the machine gun across the blood-splattered floor. His eyes were drawn from the spinning gun sliding across the floor to the radiant smile that flashed his direction as the boss caught it.

Ludwig watched from the corner of his eyes as his love heaved the gun up onto the side of the couch; in no more than two seconds Don Vargas had filled his enemies full of lead. Romano clapped his younger brother on the back in congratulations and Ludwig, confident in his man's safety for the moment, spared a second to turn his attention back to their friend, now limp and pale in Lorenzo's hold around his neck.

Ludwig again took aim…

Crack!

The capo's bullet shattered his target's knee. Roderich slumped to the floor, released as the man he'd been fighting howled in pain, falling to the floor beside him. The Austrian assassin's violet eyes were half closed as his left hand clutched his useless and bloodied right arm. It was clear he was struggling for consciousness.

In the span of a breath, Ludwig had crossed the room, tore Roderich's sleeve and the now loose tourniquet from his arm to press the still hot barrel against the open wound.

However, Ludwig had no more time to look after his friend. The gash now hastily cauterized, sharp blue eyes searched the room for signs of the last three men working for Arlovskaya as the Belarusian was slammed into an overturned chair by the Hungarian assassin.

None could be found. They had either hid to reload and regroup or else tried to run out the back. If they had run, they would surely be dead. If hiding to plan attack they would only be postponing their death by minutes.

Ludwig made a mental note to keep a watchful eye, but for the time being he put the missing men from his mind; they had bigger fish to deal with.

Glass shattered as Natalya slammed a vase into Elizaveta's head; righting herself from the chair, the blonde jumped her dark haired foe again, grinding the other woman's face into the blood soaked and glass-scattered ground with a growl. "Vy pytayetes' razrushit' moi plany?!"

Feliciano slid across the blood on the floor as he and his brother passed Ludwig on the way toward his oldest friend. The mafia's second in command ran ahead as the boss fell into his beloved capo's arms.

"Ludwig!" Caramel eyes glinted gold with inner fire as they met widening ice blue. "Don't let him get away!" Feliciano's fingers lingered, gripping Ludwig's arm tight, "But don't kill him yet;" Ever impressed with how quickly his sweet Italian could turn murderous, Ludwig nodded, his hand still supporting his lover's back in as Feliciano regained his balance and ran to join his brother.

Elizaveta turned, now atop her opponent's back, she cast a glance toward her husband kneeling on the ground across the room. Natalya's long hair held in her hand, she pulled hard.

"I have her Romano!" The Hungarian assassin yelled even as the older Vargas brother called for help from the men standing guard at the side door.

While Feliciano flashed a grin to the woman who'd so nearly ruined him, his German love was back across the room.

"bist du ok?" Before his words were out, Ludwig had pulled Roderich up by his unwounded arm. However, the Austrian had no time to respond before the German was already looking away, aiming his gun at the man attempting to get away.

"Halt!"

Ludwig's command ignored, Lorenzo trailed a bright red streak from his shattered knee as he crawled toward the hall and back door. He would never reach it, however, due to a well-aimed sword hilt to the face as Kiku leaped from the hall. Just visible behind him a pair of feet poked out from around the corner; they moved for a moment in the quickly building pool of blood and then were still.

"There are two more somewhere." The Japanese mobster reported, words calm as his dark eyes which turned toward his taller friend who nodded, azure eyes slits of focused fury.

Boots tracked splotches of red across the floor as Ludwig circled around behind the man whose ambition had put his Feliciano in jeopardy. No words were spoken, as the capo took hold of the condemned man's arms. Wrists twisted painfully together above his head as he knelt on the floor, the little noises of pain issuing from Lorenzo's mouth were roundly dismissed.

While the capo and the yakuza secured their captive several things were happening across the room.

From on her back, Natalya slid on the blood-slick floor, freeing herself from Elizaveta's grip. Unwilling to relent, the Belarusian kicked up in desperation, her heel slamming into the Hungarian's windpipe just as the two men for which Romano had called arrived.

It was Roderich's weakened voice as he stepped forward from the wall against which he'd been leaning that drew both Ludwig and Kiku's eyes across the room.

Elizaveta crumpled to the side, hand clutching her throat, split lips bloodied and wide open, she gasped for breath as the petite blonde's steel blue eyes glinted in murderous intent. Natalya knelt, reaching for the knife in her boot…

But in a handful of seconds, Romano had lept onto Natalya, his hand closing around her wrist, he attempted to knock the knife out of her hand, slamming it into the floor again and again.

Heart in his throat, Ludwig watched his love move to the injured assassin's side; watched as their Belarusian enemy's free fist collided with Romano's face.

However, Natalya's victory was short lived; instantly, she was lifted from the ground by two men, the knife falling from her grasp as her arms were pinned at her back.

Feliciano knew his brother was fine by the string of curse words issuing from his mouth. His focus stayed on Elizaveta as she too rose from the floor. "Are you alright?" The assassin was covered in blood, some her own, but most was that of her enemies.

The Hungarian held one hand to her throat and nodded; patting her coat front with the other hand, she signaled the photos were still in her possession.

"Grazie" Feliciano's smile was radiant as he first embraced his dear friend before turning to call back over his shoulder, "We'll deal with her next." The boss didn't look back toward the men who now held the struggling Natalya, instead, he was already making his way across the room to those who waited for him.

Lorenzo spit blood on the ground as he raised his head from Ludwig's assault. His face a picture of defiance, the man only a few years from Feliciano's age hissed "It's only a matter of time before someone finds out" sneering he continued, "your filthy secret"

Ludwig tightened his grip on Lorenzo's arms as Feliciano moved closer, now face to face with the ambitious traitor, the young don's caramel gaze was cold, the usual cheerful expression gone.

"I'm sure you're in a hurry to see your uncle again, si?" Feliciano's smile returned just as quickly as it had disappeared, warm eyes twinkling as he leaned in, "I don't want to keep you waiting."

Straightening, the boss turned to his friends; the husband pale in the face, violet eyes overbright in shadowed sockets, leaned on his wife as she in turn found support in him. Elizaveta swept back shorn black locks from her face with a bloodied hand leaving a crimson streak across her forehead.

"Just a minute fratello," Romano began, eyes cast toward Elizaveta. "Ladies first."

* * *

_Vy pytayetes' razrushit' moi plany?!: You trying to ruin my plans?!_

* * *

The sound of a swift backhand meeting skin reached the ears of the man standing close to the back door, sheltered by the hallway's wall. The slap had been followed by an insult leveled no doubt at the Hungarian and the unmistakable sounds of struggle before words spoken in a melodic Italian accent, "Which hand was it that you used to hit my friend?"

Goosebumps rose on Arthur's skin; they had nothing to do with the cold.

Though cold it was. Gusts of freezing wind blew in from the blasted out windows and door hanging just barely from its hinges since the mafiosi had arrived.

Since they'd arrived at seven o'clock - seven o'clock, not fifteen after, which it was nearing now.

The very idea that less than 15 minutes had passed was incomprehensible. So much had happened in so little time that to the dealer with his back to the wall, it seemed an eternity had passed, the time before seven o'clock had been another life entirely.

The dealer's heart rate sped out of control; he'd long since come down from the high of that former life almost fifteen minutes ago. From through the crack of the back door he saw the silhouettes of armed men, no doubt put in place to ensure anyone the boss wanted dead didn't leave alive.

A pained scream pierced the air as the cracking sound of sliced bone echoed through the Gold Star.

It was the sudden clarity that when they finally put a bullet between Lorenzo's eyes, they'd see his body wasn't among the dead, and they'd come to put one between his that stirred the doctor to action. It would be better to chance the men outside than the ones within.

His medical bag was at his feet where he'd dropped it when Edelstein had pulled him from his planned escape.

Heart falling leaden into his stomach, the doctor thought of what the night was supposed to have been. Images flashed through his mind; the beautiful, kind face of his lady smiling flashed across his mind's eye only to fall away, replaced by the image of her outstretched arm on the floor.

…and the blood.

How had it all gone so horribly wrong?

Fists clenched, the Englishman squared his jaw and faced the back door. He'd not stay there and wait to be found like the men he'd seen dash past him to hide by the entrance to the basement.

Arthur's fingers closed around the door knob, it opened silently.

"Thank God." Ears straining, he listened for the pacing of the guard he knew was just outside the door.

Silence.

Only the usual sounds of the city greeted him as he waited, listening.

Maybe they'd been called back? Could he be so lucky? But how had he not heard?

Hoping against hope, however unworthy he was of such luck, Arthur pushed the door open, carefully… just enough to look.

Nothing. No one was there.

It was now or never.

He threw the door open, jumping down the back steps…and promptly tripped over something at the foot. Something large, and, he pulled his hand back from where he'd thrown it out first to break his fall, wet?

Horror struck where relief had just been. It was Vargas' guards; both laid out cold in their own blood in the dark shadows behind the building.

Staggering up, he stood and instantly regretted it.

The stone behind him threw shards as a bullet whizzed past his ear to bury into the wall.

"What the bloody-?" The Brit didn't have long to wonder before his assailant came out from the shadows, aiming again for his head.

"Je serai le seul à vous tuer! Je suis le seul!" Francis didn't care a bit that his words wouldn't be understood by the other man. He would be the one to kill him, only he. Adrenaline coursed through his body as he pulled the trigger.

Not this again, of all nights! Arthur yelled as he lept sideways out of the bullet's trajectory, "You're mad!" As the dealer dodged the singer's fourth bullet, knowing now who'd killed the men on the ground, he ran for the shadows of the alley. "You'll have to catch me, Frenchie!"

Feet pounding through the dust of snow covering the pavement, both men ran through the dark back alleys, running blocks from where they'd started. Arthur knew the taller man would gain on him if he didn't do something different soon. Hoping the crazy thing he was about to do would work, the dealer turned and ran into the street. Cars passed in the night, and he dodged them all; at last a city truck was approaching, sprinkling salt on the street. As he heard behind him the unmistakable sound of lead cutting through air, he reached, and took hold of the railing on the back of the truck, hoisting himself up on the edge of the runner.

It was then he noticed the blood quickly staining his sleeve red. He'd been shot in the shoulder.

It could be worse; he knew it could have been a lot worse. This was a wound he could clean and stitch up, sure it would hurt, but he wasn't dead, not yet. Dr. Kirkland peered back at the street as from the back of the truck; there was no sign of the Frenchman.

Wind blocking out all sound, its cold fingers cutting to the bone, Arthur clung to the truck with his uninjured arm and tried to shut out the thoughts of the evening. However, his attempts were in vain; He was unable to stop the scenes replaying in his mind..Katyusha's eyes as she'd looked down to him…as she knew he had betrayed her…

Arthur kept his jaw set, his grip on the truck tight, tears freezing fast on his cheeks as regret steeped in his heart.

Blocks back in the street where Arthur had last seen Francis, the French crooner had long since ran along the sidewalk and hailed a taxi. He'd left behind the scene of his first murders, now on track to commit what he promised himself would be his last. When Kirkland was dead and his poisons could harm no more young lives all would be well. He reloaded his pistol in the back of the taxi as the driver barreled down the icy street doing as he'd told, gaining on the truck ahead.

However, when Francis had disposed of the guards at the back door he hadn't been alone. Once the French crooner took off down the alley after the man he'd sworn to kill, Gilbert stepped over the two bodies at the back steps and slipped in the door dr. Kirkland had left wide open.

* * *

_Je serai le seul à vous tuer! Je suis le seul!: I'll be the one to kill you! I'm the only one!_

* * *

Gilbert entered just in time to see his brother standing beside Feliciano in the wasted lobby of the Gold Star. Bodies lay where they'd fallen, blood stood in pools, smeared in streaks along the floor, and splattered across the wall, as Ludwig, with machine gun in hand, aimed at the man on his knees, and with a look to Feliciano, pulled the trigger.

The man that had knelt in front of them shook, riddled with lead before he slumped and fell backward on the floor.

The pale man shivered slightly in the breeze coming in from behind him; he gripped his gun tight. No one had seen him yet; he peered out from behind the back hall.

Clearly, it had not been an easy fight. A vicious bruise marred the side of his brother's face and ear. It had been so long since he'd seen Ludwig, seeing his little brother now, flecks of blood against the white shirt beneath his open coat, machine gun in one hand beside Feliciano surrounded by the dead…

It was a jarring scene.

Of course he'd known what his brother did; Gilbert wasn't stupid…but he'd never been a part of it like Ludwig; he'd never been there to witness it.

He would've felt some compassion for Elizaveta who looked as if she'd been to war, but there was the unforgettable fact - she had taken his innocent and brilliant scholar, tied him to a chair, terrorized him, and used him as nothing but leverage.

And so, red eyes turning to slits, he reminded himself he didn't care.

Steeling himself for what he knew he had to do, Gilbert stepped forward.

…and immediately stopped.

A scream had erupted from the other side of the room, where he hadn't even looked.

Blood streaked platinum hair swung in a curtain across her face as Natalya darted toward her targets, a gun in her hand, taken no doubt from the man doubled up against the wall where she'd left him.

An incoherent shriek filled the air as she ran, and suddenly, two men, hopelessly stupid or intensely loyal, lept down the stairs from the landing where they had apparently been hiding.

The petite Belarusian was a terrifying sight, small woman or no, her personality filled the room as she spun on the spot in the center of the room. Dark blue dress torn, yet more knives could be seen strapped to her thighs, peeking from beneath the ripped hem. Her hair wild, steel cold eyes wilder, she pulled the trigger of the stolen semi automatic weapon, sending bullets flying in all directions before Ludwig was able to do more than grab hold of Feliciano's jacket, pulling him out of the way.

"Scheiße!" Gilbert dropped to his knees as bullets buried themselves in the wall behind him. The two of Feliciano's men were doing the same against the other wall, as the don and his closest companions scrambled to mount a counterattack. No one had noticed him at all.

Amidst the cyclone of flying bullets, Gilbert stepped from the wall, his shoulders squared, his gun loaded and ready. He wasn't about to let anyone kill his little brother.

His steps solid and quick, Gilbert made his entrance with a single shot aimed at the still moving woman. When his bullet burst through Natalya's right forearm, she dropped the gun, whose spray of bullets now shot upward in an arc as all in the room, the Belarusian's men as well as the mafiosi, ducked out of the way as best they could.

Natalya clutched her arm as she too did her best to avoid the spray of bullets. By the time the gun stopped, finally laying still though not empty, everyone in the room was suddenly and completely aware of the white haired German standing in the middle of the room.

"Gil?" Ludwig, perplexed, looked to his older brother, but he had only a moment as Natalya looked up, and with a wolf like grin, made for Feliciano as if she'd never been slowed down by Gilbert's bullet. The Petite Belarusian was as a ghost, zig zagging around the room, flicking two knives one after the other like sharp silver slivers as she ran.

Eventually she stopped behind the side of the large stone fireplace, where one of her men had taken shelter earlier.

The don and his capo's bullets blasted into the hearth, yet Natalya stayed standing behind it, her snarled words lost in the sound of hot lead cracking into stone. But bullets can't fly forever, and when at last the mobsters had to reload, she made her move. Shoving her man out from behind the fireplace, her fingers took on the shape of a gun as Natalya mimed a shot toward her enemies, her order clear.

At his friends' backs, the yakuza met Arlovskaya's other man with sword.

The assassins stood together against the wall, each out of ammunition, the couple leaned on each other; they could do nothing but watch their friends fight.

Romano, however, had been unable to look away from Gilbert since his very unexpected appearance. Heart thundering beneath his ribs, the Italian moved toward the German, pistol held in one hand at his side.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" Romano took another step, grip tightening on his weapon; unsure of the other man's intentions, the older Vargas brother's hazel brown eyes slit in suspicion as they met those of crimson.

"Vhat am I doing here?!" The pale man's voice raised as did his gun, blood running hot through his veins, Gilbert advanced, punctuating each word with slow certainty, enunciating each syllable as he stepped closer, the barrel of his gun held level with the weapon his opponent now raised in return. "I am here to end this all right now."

Gilbert knew he looked crazed out of his mind; he didn't care in the least. He'd walked into a massacre, and now stepping over bodies, he was aware that he would likely soon be among them. Chasing fear from his heart, he reminded himself of what he'd come to do.

"You, all of you, can drop this;" White hair, windblown from the drive fell into red eyes as Gilbert nodded toward where his brother was now trading shots with one of Arlovskaya's men as Feliciano stood on the other side of the fireplace, waiting to take on the woman who'd come so close to ending everything he'd built. "You can get the hell out of Chicago, go back home, go anywhere, but of course I know you won't!" Temperature rising, Gilbert's neck and face were burning as Romano rolled his eyes dismissively.

"Yeah." Shadow crossed Romano's face as he backed up, "That's not going to fucking happen, you idiot!" His words spit out with force, he hoped, desperately hoped, the other man couldn't see the hesitation in his eyes, hesitation to pull the trigger. "Your boyfriend and your goddamn _new_ friends are as good as dead already!"

Romano's thoughts ran out of control. Why did he still care? Why did the devotion in the other man's eyes stab him as if a knife to the gut? He didn't need Gilbert's affection, he always had other options; a letter was even now on its way to Spain. He could have anyone he wanted; he was powerful, he was known, his name feared and respected…

And yet, he'd been rejected. Rejected in favor of some nobody? Some unknown element, this professor Williams? All Gilbert had had to do was look at that Canadian to fall for him, while he, _he,_ had been there all those years – and he hadn't been enough?

A bead of sweat broke from Romano's brow and slid down the side of his face. He readjusted his hold on the pistol in his hand. Heart beat so thunderous, it seemed sure to break through his ribs, the syndicate's official second in command continued, words now hissed low as he closed the distance between himself and Gilbert, "Williams'll never leave that hospital alive!"

Narrowing red eyes glinted a dark ruby as Gilbert spoke, the barrel of his gun pressed firmly against Romano's chest as surely as Romano's was pressed against his. "You can leave town, or I vill fill you full of lead right here und now Romano!" Hands shaking slightly with the coursing adrenaline, he pushed the other man hard in the shoulder, forcing him back a few paces. "You'll be six feet under before I let you hurt Mathew again!"

"Oh, yeah?" The brunette stared at the albino, his pale hair a mess, crimson eyes wild with murderous intent. "You think you can stop me? You're only alive because I wanted you alive!" Though Romano's eyes were slits of hot fury, his heart quickly turned to ice under the cold grip of regret. "I don't know why I ever fucking cared!"

Romano yelled over the din of battle as his brother fought across the room. He stepped closer to Gilbert again, "Williams is dead; he's fucking dead and just doesn't know it!" Hazel brown eyes met crimson in focused intent as the boss's brother held the capo's brother's gaze, "And so are Jones and that-a Russian," the two men stood no more than feet apart, guns again leveled at each other's chest.

At any second either could fire. Yet neither did. Romano hated himself for not pulling the trigger - but Gilbert hadn't fired either.

Why hadn't he?

Romano fought the angry tears behind his eyes threatening to burst out, the lump in his throat that he swallowed, "You coulda come back!" The slight crack in his voice was all that betrayed his emotions, "We woulda taken you back!"

Gilbert's stomach churned, heat drained from his body as images flashed through his mind; images of Mathew with a gun to his head in the basement of this very building, of promising that he'd never let him be hurt again, a promise he hadn't been able to keep. Images of the blood soaked floor of Jones' apartment…

_And Romano had the nerve to think he'd ever come back after that?!_ Gilbert's grip on his gun shook and he hated himself for it, for any sign of weakness. "I'll kill you!"

"Then do it!" Romano challenged his former friend and regretful object of affection, stepping closer till he could feel the metal of Gilbert's gun through his shirt. He knew the other man could feel his as he in turn pressed his own pistol to Gilbert's heart.

All the recent weeks that had passed between them… The hotheaded brunette knew this had only been building, knew if he'd succeeded on Christmas Gilbert would never have known just which faction had taken the agent and his brother out…afterall, Jones had so many enemies…but he'd messed up, he'd left witnesses alive, and now he aimed a gun at a man he'd never wanted to hurt.

The wail of a siren came thin and ghostly from afar; the police were at last on their way. However, neither man paid this the slightest attention, their eyes, only for one another.

Gilbert again pushed the other man back, his palm shoving hard into Romano's shoulder.

"Verdammt es alles!" weapon still held at the ready, he went on desperation clear in his words, "You vill never stop; you know I vill kill you, und you still vill never call off the hit, never leave him in peace!"

He knew this, had known this was why tonight was going to end in death, and knew what he had to do would change things irreparably…

And he knew he had no choice.

"You von't stop." The pale German's finger tightened around the trigger, his eyes following the other man's movements as Romano walked a semi-circle around him, the Italian's back now against the ruined front desk, each man's weapon still trained on the other.

Romano knew it wasn't a question but he replied all the same, "_I_ don't turn my back on family."

Back straight, eyes dry, Romano was determined to never show how much he'd cared for the man he now had to kill, determined to purge the last of the softness he felt for Gilbert from his heart with this shot.

He pulled the trigger.

A mere three feet apart, Gilbert did the same.

Both men moved to duck as they themselves fired.

The bullets whizzed through the air in a fraction of a second.

One pierced the air to find a home in the already destroyed wall, the other shot though flesh and bone.

* * *

Time stood.

Red was the color of movement as all else had come to a sickening halt, all other colors seemingly losing saturation as reality crashed; at least for the men who stood nearest the brothel's entrance.

For the boss and his capo at the front, the bright lights of approaching squad cars only served to highlight what had drawn their attention so fully.

As if set to prove the world hadn't stopped with them, several things happened in a single second as both men stood transfixed.

The door burst open as first Feliciano's lookouts ran in, the two men's warnings useless. Cops piled in only a moment after them as more sirens could be heard from a distance; clearly backup on the way. Elizaveta dove for the blood soaked floor, scrambling to pick up the weapon of a fallen man as Roderich made for the backdoor fast as he could, already calling for their own backup, never knowing the men at the back door wouldn't answer.

Bullets ripped the air as made men, hired guns, and cops clashed and fell on all sides. However, it was the scene across the room that held Don Vargas and his capo's attention. Natalya's scream went unnoticed as the last of her men hit the floor to join his comrades in the ever expanding pool of crimson.

It was the red that drew Ludwig's attention as his brother's eyes held his own in an indiscernible expression before Gilbert turned and fled out the back door, from where he had so unexpectedly appeared.

It was also the rapidly spreading red of blood that brought Feliciano's heart to stop in a temporary echo of the permanence of his brother's.

Life bled out across Romano's chest, staining the hotheaded Italian's white shirt as, knees buckling beneath him, the elder Vargas brother slid to the floor.

A trail of blood followed him, marring what was left of the front desk behind which the madam still lay.

Romano's gun fell to the floor as his knees hit the polished wood with a clatter. The weapon lay forgotten; useless as the fingers clutching helplessly at his chest.

And all this in the span of one second, a second that seemed for the boss and his capo, an eternity, nonetheless came to an end with the slam of the back door and the tiny metallic ringing of wasted casings falling onto the bloodied hardwood floor.

Finally Ludwig and Feliciano were freed from frozen time as Romano pitched forward, falling to the ground amidst the hail of bullets raining down around the room.

Blood spread out from his older brother's body as Feliciano took the machine gun from Ludwig's hand and ran forward. Raising the weapon high, a spray of gunfire shot into the ceiling above as the young don's cry rent the air.

Feliciano ran, emptying the weapon of ammunition as he crossed the wasted lobby. Crashing to the floor as the battle raged on around him, his knees were soaked in his brother's blood as rapid, desperate words streamed from his lips in his native tongue. Tears tracked his cheeks as pulling Romano from the floor, Feliciano held his brother to his chest, all around him seemingly forgotten.

Covering his beloved with gunfire of his own, Ludwig picked off would be arresting officers as Feliciano cradled Romano's body.

Torn, the German stood, unsure how to proceed. He couldn't leave Feliciano vulnerable, yet he couldn't let anyone else reach Gilbert before him.

The capo shot down yet another cop who'd thought he could try to arrest Elizaveta as the Hungarian assassin paused, tears flowing freely from her unbruised eye. Praying it was the right answer, Ludwig turned toward Kiku, who had just appeared beside him.

"Kiku-"

The yakuza mobster turned, looking up toward his taller associate, Kiku pushed the rage and despair behind dark eyes, keeping tears for his fallen friend held back by years of strict personal discipline.

Ludwig was sure he could count on his friend, who cared for both brothers, whose loyalty had been proven time and time again, whose strength reached far beyond his small stature.

"Protect him. At all costs." blue eyes held black as Kiku nodded.

* * *

No more needed saying; the Japanese mobster ran across the room, his sword in one hand, he lifted Romano's weapon from the floor and kneeling in front of Feliciano he lay down a layer of cover fire, forcing the police to the front door.

Tears finally gathered in the corners of his eyes at the sound of his friend's voice behind him, cracked sobs breaking up the words Feliciano cried so quickly, pain evident in each syllable. However, Kiku had a promise to keep and keep it he would. Not sparing a look over his shoulder, he focused on the front and side entrances as Ludwig ran out the back.

* * *

The capo jumped the stairs on his way down, his own boots filling the blood stained prints left by his brother. He noted the bodies on the ground with only a mild interest, his attention commanded by something much more important: the figure of his brother ahead of him. Ludwig ran across the snow, leaping over patches of ice, till he caught up with Gilbert just before he could reach his motorcycle. With one outstretched hand, Ludwig grabbed hold of his brother's collar and spun him round, slamming him into the brick wall of one of the Gold Star's neighboring buildings.

"Vhat have you done?!"

A cold smile broke across Gilbert's face, fuller of misery than mirth, the smile didn't reach the defiant eyes which flashed bright in the light of a passing car "I'm protecting vhat's mine! No less than you vould do in my position, bruder."

Ludwig released Gilbert and backed up a step. It was incredible that his older brother couldn't comprehend the consequences of what he'd just done. "But don't you know vhat you've done? You're a marked man, you'll be killed." Shaking his head, Ludwig went on voice raising again, "Vhat do you expect me to do?!"

Gilbert spoke low, words full of gloom as his gaze shifted to the snow below them for a second, soft pure white mixed with blood at their feet. "I don't expect anything from you Ludwig. Not anymore. Do vhatever you have to do, I vill do the same."

Blue eyes wide, Ludwig again took hold of his brother, grabbing Gilbert's right arm with his left, as he raised his pistol to disheveled white hair with the right. "You vould have me shoot you here und now in the street - prove my love and loyalty by killing mein only bruder?!"

Lowering the gun, as well as his voice, Ludwig went on, "Du bist mein Bruder...mein Bruder."

"I never vanted this life for you , Ludwig." Gilbert's voice was softer now, pleading. "Have you so lost sight of right und wrong that you cannot understand me?" voice growing louder, his words began to shake and fray "He was an innocent! AN INNOCENT! And I love him!"

Ludwig's fist clenched around the grip of his weapon as he yelled back, matching his brother's volume, "GOTT VERDAMMT! This is the life I have and the life I vant!"

Raising a hand up and through his hair, Ludwig fought for self-control. "I told you not to fall in love with him! The brother of an agent, how else could this have ended?!"

Quieter, the soldier's whispered words were tinged in despair as he went on more to himself than his brother, "I should have died in Padua rather than be faced with this choice!"

"You can't tell someone not to fall in love!" Gilbert's words rushed from his lips as he heard sirens growing louder and louder. At some level Gilbert recognized this meant Alfred now knew all about the commotion at the Gold Star, but this information meant nothing to him at the moment.

"Wouldn't your life be easier if you didn't have to fear your enemies finding out your secret?" Gilbert went on, "Wouldn't the man you love be safer if you didn't love him? You know it is so!" Frantically, he shook his head as snow began to fall around them, the wind whipping through the alley as sharply as it blew through their bones. "Mein kleiner bruder! Mein kleiner bruder! Always the little man, the little soldier, always so honest! so good!"

"Ach!" Ludwig looked both ways down the alley as the sound of the gunfight continued. "I should have; I should have died in the war! You und Romano vould never have met! It vould not be my love that brought danger to Feliciano!" The tall blonde stepped toward his older brother again, and pointed his gun down the alley toward the cherry red bike that waited for its rider.

"Just go! Get out of Chicago" Moisture glistened in the stoic soldier's eyes; for once he didn't try to hide it but spoke again, his voice serious, words broken by the lump in his throat. "I can-can never see you again Gilbert, never…never know where you are!"

The older brother lept forward from the wall, grabbing the younger in a fierce hug. "Never think you should have died, never! I am so sorry I failed you, my little brother, I should have found a way to give you a better life." Crimson eyes bore intensely into blue through the shadow of the alley. "Ich liebe dich, egal nach allem, was ist passiert! Nie vergessen."

Ludwig returned Gilbert's embrace, his arms tightening around his brother as if they knew, as did his heart, this was the last hug they would share.

"No, you were once grateful to Feliciano. There is no better life for me without him; you know that Gilbert." Ludwig shook his head as he spoke, pulling back to look his brother in the eyes. "I have always been a soldier, und I vill always be his, but I vill not kill you... Ich kann nicht mein großer Bruder ermorden."

Triumphant feminine laughter rang out in the nearly empty alley, forcing Ludwig's attention to to return to the Gold Star's back door in horror. Snapping back toward his brother, suddenly, time which had seemed to stretch forever was irretrievably speeding up. The capo's words were clipped and rushed as he spoke clearly to his brother, one foot already turning back toward the hotel-brothel,

"but I cannot stop the hit that vill come."

Pushing his brother in the shoulder, Ludwig was determined not to show how much his heart was breaking at sending him off, at saying goodbye to the one person who'd been a part of his life since its beginning. "Ich liebe dich auch Gilbert, jetzt gehen!"

Crimson eyes were wide as Gilbert took a last look at his brother. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, and he did desperately want to speak again, one more word, one more sentence, but what did he want to say? There was nothing else that needed spoken, it was only his reluctance to turn his back forever, never again to share a beer, never to tease his stoic sibling as he had so many times before.

Gilbert knew the reality of the situation, that he had to go, that he could not drag out the inevitable goodbye forever. He commanded his mouth to close, and slowly it obeyed.

Shoulders heaved under the sigh that blew out in a fog from his silent lips.

Turning at last, Gilbert ran toward his motorbike, footfalls muffled in the now heavily falling snow. Wet drops of tears becoming ice before they could fall, he hopped into the seat, turned the key in the ignition, and raced off, far from the scene, far from his brother.

Ludwig had turned when he heard the engine roar into life. He didn't even want to know which direction Gilbert had gone. Willing himself to push all emotion down, to keep control over his body, the capo went to the mental place only a soldier can go. He had a job to do, and no amount of misery or horror could be allowed to incapacitate him.

It was with this mindset that he raced through the hall into the lobby just as the laugh he'd heard ended in a low breathy moan.

* * *

_Ich liebe dich, egal nach allem, was ist passiert! __Nie vergessen: I love you, even after what has happened. __Never forget._

_Ich kann nicht mein großer Bruder ermorden: I cannot murder my big brother._

* * *

Natalya swayed from where she knelt on the floor, white stockings stained in red, her steel blue eyes drawn like a magnet to the hand holding the hilt of the sword, the only piece of the weapon she could see; the long silver blade stuck out behind her, having ripped through her dress as easily as it had her chest.

Swaying again to the left, she smiled, her eyes moving slowly from her own mortal wound to the one she had struck. Cold steel blue eyes hooded by lowering lids met those of midnight black, caught wide in surprise. The fingers of her own hand daintily dropped from the knife she had pressed, with her last effort, into her killer's chest.

Kiku knelt, one knee touching the blood soaked floor, his gaze didn't leave Natalya's as she finally slumped to her left and fell, his sword still between her ribs.

The man whose steel had felled her was the only one to hear the whisper on her lips as she dropped to the floor. It meant nothing to him as he did not know her language.

"Ivan…prostit' menya."

His hand raised to where her's had just been. The Japanese mobster felt the hilt of the dagger as his breath came ragged and short.

The salty taste of blood was in his mouth…

But still he could hear Feliciano's voice. Pounding footfalls reached his ear, and he turned, slower than he meant to, it was as if in a dream that he saw Ludwig reach Feliciano's side.

He'd kept his promise. In painful relief, he exhaled.

And then it all went dark. Eyes closed as his other knee found the floor, he listed to the left and dropped unconscious. His outstretched hand, only inches from Natalya's unblinking blue eyes.

* * *

_Vanya…prostiti' menya: Vanya, Forgive me_

* * *

Gathered outside, the cops at the front awaited back up as many of their number lay dead inside. Elizaveta and Roderich moved nearer their friends as the last of Feliciano's men kept the police at bay, their bullets flying out the broken front windows of the once opulent brothel.

"We've got to get out of here Ludwig!" Elizaveta's voice was exhausted as she moved to lift Kiku from the floor, his only remaining yakuza brother running from where he'd been at the door to help. "We can't hold them off forever!"

Ludwig was on his knees beside his sobbing love, as Feliciano, paying him no mind, clung tight to his brother. Raking his hands up and through his hair, the German gathered his wits and exhaled slowly, "Ja." Looking around he took in the scene and knew they had to run and run fast. He cleared his throat and spoke up loudly, his tone commanding, hiding the panic that ran as an electric current through his mind. "Rod, go get the car, pull it to the back!"

He then turned to the two holding his unconscious friend between them. "Get Kiku out;" the statement was immediately followed by a question. "Is he…alive?"

Elizaveta nodded, worry as evident on her face as in her words. "So far…"

The room soon emptied; with only those few soldiers left to keep the cops outside. Ludwig knew they didn't have enough men or ammunition to hold the place long.

He reached for his love, as Feliciano held his older brother's body close against his chest, Romano's legs lay out at the angle from which he'd fallen, hazel eyes stared unseeing as his brother's tears fell into dark brown hair from where Feliciano buried his face on top of Romano's head.

"F-Feli…" Ludwig started, his throat closing over the guilt in his chest, the regret, the uncertainty, the unnamed feeling he felt sinking in his bones. "we have to go now, the cops are here, more are coming, we must go!" With hesitant hands, suddenly unsure if they would be welcome, Ludwig took hold of Feliciano's shoulders, shoulders that shook violently as heavy sobs racked his body, bent as he was, over his brother.

The don didn't move, didn't speak nor look to his capo.

Instead, only incoherent pieces of Italian broken between sobbing gasps of air and deep sorrowful moans came up from where Feliciano covered Romano's body.

Blue eyes wide, Ludwig spoke again, preparing to pull Feliciano away if necessary; his words coming out nowhere near as strong as he had intended. What was it wiggling into his heart, worming its way through his body, choking his words, and making his voice tremble so?

Terror, Ludwig realized, it was terror that worked its way up to the surface, not content to stay under the control he had attempted to force upon it.

What would become of his love even if they got out of here alive? Feliciano would never be the same; he'd lost his brother, and in a way, Ludwig had lost his as well. Gilbert would be on the run for the rest of his life, which may well not be long…and Ludwig had let him run.

Feliciano would know that.

Heart sinking hard as lead, Ludwig held fast to his boss and lover, preparing to pull Feliciano up forcibly. He knew, that if he didn't, Feliciano's grandfather would have two funerals to plan instead of one.

Feliciano heard Ludwig's words, felt his warm hands on his arms, felt him trying to pull him away, he knew his beloved soldier was trying to get him to safety. However, at the moment, his own safety was the farthest thing from Feliciano's mind.

Romano, his stubborn, hot headed, foul mouthed…loyal, funny, wonderful brother was…

Gone.

Images replayed in his head, Gilbert running as Romano fell…blood staining his brother's shirt as Romano's eyes had found his…as he'd seen the light leave them blank...

His stomach twisted in cold panic as nausea gripped him, yet nothing came up. His brother would never be there again, never chide him for sleeping in late and missing mass, or show off how fast his car could drive, never again would he see that rare smile behind his brother's macho façade, never hear his worried voice if he hadn't heard from Feliciano in a few days even though Romano would never admit to having been worried, or see the intensity in his eyes when one of their friends was in trouble.

Romano was gone.

Heat coursed through his body where seconds ago icy fear had been, burning up the cold sweat, leaving him to shake feverishly as tears blurred his vision and rolled down his cheeks.

Never had he hated someone so fiercely before as he hated Gilbert now.

"Feliciano!" Ludwig's cry broke through the fog of misery and hatred in which the young boss was surrounded. "Feliciano - bitte, bitte! Ti prego!" The slender Italian felt the larger German's hands gripping his arms tight; he was being pulled up. Up and away from his brother!

"No!" Feliciano kept his hold around Romano's chest, attempting to shake off his lover's grip, he refused to let go or move from the floor.

"Feli!" Ludwig yelled again, his voice threading thin as out back Roderich's engine revved and to the front, squealing tires announced the arrival of more police. The capo took a deep breath and with all his strength, he turned his love around to face him.

He had to make Feliciano understand, had to get him to come, to stand, to allow him to take Romano from his arms, had to get him to run, and to run now. The thought of losing his love, whether to despair, all-consuming vengeance, or the ironclad grip of the law was unbearable; he couldn't lose Feliciano. Taking his Italian's tear streaked chin in hand, Ludwig spoke candidly, focused on caramel eyes red and puffed from crying.

"Feli, mein Lieber," The tears and the emptiness in the other man's golden eyes sent Ludwig's heart falling so far he knew not where or if it ever landed. Knees weakening as hopelessness crept closer, the German went on. "I am so sorry, but we must go."

Feliciano's breath stopped for a moment; couldn't Ludwig see that everything had been broken? That the prospect of prison meant nothing to him anymore.

However, looking up into Ludwig's face as he was, it was another question that came to the boss's mind. His lover's eyes were wide; the blue irises brighter in comparison to the red rimmed lids, and were those tears clinging to blonde lashes, threatening to fall as Ludwig spoke again?

"Feliciano…we have to go." The German's words were decisive, there was no question, only information.

A single tear, followed instantly by a second, seemingly desperate for release, rolled down the curve of the German's right cheekbone to drop from his chin. Jaw set, his lips tightly closed, Ludwig was ready to force the issue. Maybe Feliciano would hate him, maybe he already did, but he'd not let him get arrested or worse.

They probably had half a minute at most; He would clearly have to pick Feliciano up and run.

But it would be best if he had his cooperation.

Feliciano was distracted with concern for Ludwig for only a fraction of a second before what he was saying became clear. The hand that had reached up to brush the tear from his German's face drew back to hold his brother tight.

"I won't leave him!" The boss's voice was loud, and commanding, even as it was strained, the declaration coming from a throat worn from crying.

"Nein, of course not!" Ludwig realized he had practically bellowed his words as he pulled with all his strength, lifting Feliciano up, pulling him from his brother's body which fell lightly back against the rubble of the front desk. He lowered his voice as the man in his arms rebelled against them. "I vill carry him." The German soldier held his petite but furious Italian love close, buried against his chest as the sounds of car doors slammed and yelled orders came from outside the front door, itself only barely hanging from a single hinge.

"I vill carry him."

From where he stood, wrapped in muscular arms, Feliciano heard Ludwig's softer spoken words; it was these words, and perhaps even more, the confident sure tone in which they were spoken that brought him back to reality. Finally ceasing his struggle, the petite brunette gave in, exhausted and glad for the comfort of his lover's arms as Ludwig went on, "but you have to help me, Feli. I need you."

"Veh…" the sigh was only just leaving Feliciano's lips, the boss nodding into his capo's broad chest when the door was flung wide, its single hinge finally giving way as it crashed to the floor in a deafening thud.

A thud followed instantly by an unmistakable voice.

"Freeze!" Agent Jones lept ahead of the officers running into the room, followed closely by his broad Russian beau who looked right and left rapidly as the agent took aim, continuing to yell his order, "You're goin' to the pen Vargas!"

"Run!" It was the war all over again in miniature; Ludwig pushed Feliciano away, aiming to get his love far from danger as he yelled and turned back. This time instead of running into battle with confidence Ludwig dropped to a knee, reaching to pick Romano up under the arms in what he was now sure would be a vain effort at escape.

However, things had changed since 1917. Feliciano had changed.

This Feliciano was older, far more confident, and most importantly had, in this moment, just lost his brother.

It had only been the space of a heartbeat since the door had flung open and crashed to the floor and this had all happened. Ludwig had only just raised Romano's body up and over one shoulder, perhaps more hastily than he would have liked…before turning on his heel and straightening, the capo saw his boss and love, to his horror, not out to the getaway car and safety, but standing right in front of him.

But one more cop, his neck turned awkwardly, joined the dead on the floor, laying at the petite mafioso's feet as Feliciano held the dead man's weapon aloft, aiming through tear-blurred eyes, his voice dropped to an uncharacteristic timbre as he pulled the trigger, "vai a farti fottere!"

* * *

_vai__ a farti fottere: Go fuck yourself!_

* * *

Alfred dropped to the ground fast as he could, his right hand holding tight to his own gun while with the left he gripped the front of Ivan's coat and pulled down with all his strength.

But he wasn't going to stay down.

"I've got you now, Vargas!" Alfred put all the force he could into his words as he stood again, "and you Beilschmidt - everyone's seen you!"

However, again, he ducked bullets that came flying overhead while his quarry escaped out the back. "Shit!" He swiveled around to the men behind him, gesturing wildly with his pistol, "Go, go, go! – they left out the back!" the federal agent continued to bark orders to the police under his command, not noticing his Slavic sweetheart had left his side. "Don't let 'em get away!"

It was only once the majority of Chicago's boys in blue had run out to their cars and given chase that Alfred's attention turned back to his surroundings.

And the scope of what had happened dawned upon him.

"Oh…"

Ivan was now slowly kneeling beside his younger sister. Her long platinum hair stained with blood, steel blue eyes empty. It would have been obvious even without the forgotten sword hilt still protruding from her chest, that Natalya Arlovskaya was no longer living. Unsure what to say, as he was truly unsure how to feel, Alfred walked slowly toward his love. Natalya _had_ been sociopathically in love with her brother and _had_ tried to kill him and _his_ brother afterall…

However, whatever she'd done, Alfred knew Natalya was, had been, Ivan's sister, and somewhere in his Russian love's heart, Alfred reminded himself, surely there was the innocent little girl he assumed she had once been.

"Natochka…" The seasoned soldier's voice was choked as with two fingers, Ivan gently closed unseeing eyes, his hand brushing back blood matted hair from his sister's porcelain face as whispered Russian words broke through the catch in his throat.

"mozhet byt'," The grief stricken Russian rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat, the words that followed soft and desperate as the most private of prayers, "teper' u tebya yest' mirolyubi"

"Vanya…" Alfred started, unsure what he could possibly say, he moved to lay a hand on Ivan's shoulder as the few officers that had stayed behind began to catalog the dead, figuring out just what had happened around them.

But his love's broad shoulders were jerked out of reach as an audible gasp was followed almost immediately by the most painful howling cry Alfred had ever heard. It took a moment for him to realize the sound had come from Ivan, who now moved away, crawling across the floor on hands and knees, over bodies, shell casings, and knives that lay in his way without a care, Ivan's focus was the arm that lay limp from behind what had once been the front desk.

Alfred's eyes followed Ivan's movement to the side of the desk, as both the taller man's knees were now soaked in blood, his words completely incoherent, both hands raked streaks of red through silver locks as the strong soviet soldier doubled over beside the pale, lifeless arm of his older sister.

Alfred could only make out the madame's name buried in wails of grief as her brother's voice was wracked with sobbs, fingers clenched in fistfuls of his own hair as Ivan bent at the waist.

"ne moi sestry, obe moi sestry – ne Katyusha..."

* * *

_Mozhet byt' teper' u tebya yest' mirolyubi: Maybe now you have peace._

_Ne moi sestry, obe moi sestry – ne Katyusha: Not my sisters, both my sisters – not Katyusha!_

* * *

His sisters…Ivan had lost them before, but always he'd hoped they were well, had been so happy to know of their whereabouts when he and Alfred had been united…but now, now they were truly lost…and he would never see them again.

Over and over in Ivan's mind where his last words to Natalya; he'd said she was no sister to him at all. Conflicting emotions chased themselves around his mind. Why, God, why, hadn't she left the country as he'd said?!

It was only barely, as if from the end of a tunnel, that he heard Alfred tossing broken porcelain, pieces of the wooden shelf, and rubble from the desk off of his sister, heard him yelling overheard, "Is the ambulance here yet?!"

Ivan's vision blurred as tears clouded his eyes; the kapitan sat back on his heels as the agent pulled the unconscious madam from behind the desk. Alfred worked quick, his fingers seeking a pulse, he checked first her wrist, and then her neck.

Blue eyes flew up to meet violet, "She's alive, Ivan, she's alive!" The agent stood as his Slavic love hurriedly took his place, holding his unconscious sister close. Alfred had only a moment to note the relief that broke across Ivan's face before he ran toward the door and the arriving medics shouting orders and flashing his badge, making sure Katyusha was the first to be cared for before the other bodies strewn about the floor were checked.

* * *

The crime scene at the Gold Star was hopping; slowly Katyusha's working girls were found hiding upstairs, each seemed too traumatized to remember anything that had happened, particularly upon hearing that their boss had been whisked off to the hospital. The street was choked with hearses arriving to carry away the dead, journalists from the tribune with the flashes of their cameras there to document the massacre which was sure to dominate the headlines for weeks.

* * *

Equally noisy was the wind howling past open windows and the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire as Roderich pressed his foot to the pedal and Ludwig leaned out the window of the passenger seat to shoot at pursuant police cars.

In the backseat, Elizaveta knelt on her knees, bent over the back, she checked on Kiku laid out beside Romano in the trunk space. If it weren't for the knife sticking out of the Japanese mobster's chest and the deep red stain of blood on the Italian's she would have sworn they each were simply sleeping.

Kiku's chest rose and fell at an uneven rate, his breath rattling with each inhale; his fate was far from certain.

It was a testament to the Hungarian assassin's self-control that she held back the tears that sprang to her eyes when her glance fell upon Romano; he and Feliciano had always been like little brothers to her.

Retrieving a spare gun from the trunk, Elizaveta looked to the man with whom she shared the back seat. "Feliciano?"

Head in his hands, Feliciano was bent at his waist as sobs, now turned silent, continued to shake his shoulders.

* * *

_End of Chapter 22. I love you guys. Anyone that's feeling really sorrowful about what happened – just know I teared up writing it. I hope you feel the hug through the screen that I'm sending you. I really want to write more in the ending note here but I'm exhausted. Basically – I love you dear readers, and I'm sorry, believe me, I'm sorry – it just had to happen._

_There will be a tiny Chapter 23 and then two more full chapters and an epilogue before the story ends._

_See you soon in Chapter 23! _


	23. Chapter 23

_Chapter 23…it's a small one, just a separate moment in time I thought needed its own space._

* * *

As Ludwig, joined by Elizaveta, continued to lean out of the car, their bullets flying back toward the police in quick pursuit, Gilbert reached the third floor of the hospital, the back of his hand clearing chilled tears from his cheeks.

He strode toward Mathew's room, his footsteps sounding abnormally loud to his ears. The officers standing guard recognized him at once. Why was his heart suddenly racing? They had no reason to suspect him of anything...

All the same, Gilbert only realized he had been holding his breath after they let him pass.

The light was on; his sweet Canadian professor was awake. The pale German's chest was tight in apprehension. How could such a kind man love him now, after what he'd become?

_It had been necessary._

_Necessary._

Even though he continued to tell himself this, Gilbert still knew he'd murdered a man; he had never been a murderer before - sure, he'd been a lot of things, but not a killer.

No sooner had he crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him than Mathew's blue violet eyes found his. Part concern, part relief flashed across the blonde's face as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, tossed his book aside and scooted up in bed.

"Gil!" The exclamation was fast to his tongue, the rest of the sentence coming slower, "The Roost – what…happened" The young professor's expression grew determined as he pressed on, "Al and…Ivan" an exhausted pause broke his flow, "to… Gold Star."

God, what was he going to say? Gilbert hurried to Mathew's side but still no words came to him. The German bent to pull his Canadian lover in a tight embrace.

He couldn't stay silent forever, he would have to tell Mathew just what had happened eventually, he may as well force it out now before his man's warm blue eyes undid him and ruined his nerve.

"Mathew, listen…" Gilbert sat in the chair beside the bed. He focused on those disarming eyes, no matter how his heart broke at the thought of what he had to admit. He'd had the ride back to think on exactly what had happened and while he couldn't say he regretted his actions, Gilbert wasn't proud of himself either.

Again, his thoughts spiraled inward.

He'd done a lot, he'd skirted the law, no, flouted the law, he'd turned a blind eye, but he'd never killed a man in cold blood like that before, and certainly not one he had once called 'friend'. Regardless of the tension that had woven through their interactions like a thread, Romano had been his friend before he had made himself an enemy.

Forcing himself to go on, the words tumbled out in a rush; "Mathew, I went to the Gold Star before Al and Ivan found out vhat was happening – a call came, it had been meant for your brother but I knew I had to go first. It had to be me who confronted my brother and my old …friends…" breath left his chest in a slow exhale before he went on, his courage returning with each sentence. It needed to be said; even if Mathew would never see him the same again, he didn't want to lie and he'd not sugar coat the truth of what he'd done.

He wanted to be honest with Mathew, and Gilbert knew he had to speak fast; he would have to leave in a hurry. Not only did he have to get out of Chicago before the mafia could retalitate, he couldn't be sure Alfred wouldn't arrest him - he had, afterall, committed murder.

He didn't quite relish the idea of jail time.

Focusing on the deep pools that were his sweetheart's eyes, Gilbert went on, "I got to the Gold Star. Romano vas there." Sentences clipped, the pale man felt the blood drain from his face, sure it was taking every bit of color he had with it, as images of the night flashed across his mind's eye. "He vould never have let us live in peace, never stopped trying to…to.." faltering, a lump rose in his throat; Gilbert forced himself to continue. "to kill you. Und your brother."

The room was colder, Mathew could hear his heartbeat in his ears. What had Gilbert done? The question wasn't coming to his tongue, so the young professor reached for his pale German's hand, eyes drawn to the mess of wind-blown white hair as Gilbert lowered his head.

"I knew vhat had to be done." Voice muffled slightly, Gilbert spoke into the scarf hanging around his neck. "Both of us shot, but I moved faster to the side, my aim vas better."

Gilbert felt the floor fall away as the night came rushing fully back to him. Images, like a moving picture flashed through his mind. "Und now I vill be…Ludwig vas clear…" He spoke into his chest, "If I am found, I vill be as dead as Romano."

The German held the Canadian's hand tight as he looked back up; silent, he waited for the reaction that would come.

Would Mathew be disappointed in his taking of the law into his own hands? Would he be angry, or would he be scared that this was now an even greater target on all their lives? Or worse of all, would he even be able to look at him the same way – knowing now he was no better than any of the others, no more than a murderer…that he had given in to pride and fear?

Crimson eyes roved over blonde curls that hung over and around the bandaged forehead, the soft, kind lips pursed in thought, almost unreadable, a far cry from how he was sure his face showed each emotion.

"…You should…" Mathew began, the words harder to form as the adrenaline pumped through his body, heart racing, his head began to swim, "go…"

Leaden, Gilbert's heart dropped as he stood instantly. "I know," contrary to Mathew's struggles, Gilbert's words flew from his tongue faster than his mind could catch them, "natürlich you cannot love me. Nicht jetzt…" half in English, half in German he babbled as he backed toward the door, not even noticing the chick that stood chirping in agitation at the foot of Mathew's bed.

"…sollte nicht, ich weiß..." One hand over his face, the other reaching back toward the door, Gilbert continued to speak brokenly, "vergib mir, bitte…Matt, please."

He didn't know what he would do and he didn't care, maybe he'd just get back on the bike, find Feliciano and take what was coming to him, maybe he'd just go back to Berlin, maybe he'd just disappear, ride until he was out of gas and see what happened…

Whatever happened to him it didn't matter. So what that he was a killer now and his sweet man could never look at him again? The thoughts continued to rush through Gilbert's mind; at least Matt would be safer – Feliciano would have more to deal with now, and if Al wasn't back that could only mean he was out there chasing his former friend and his brother down…it was entirely possible the energetic agent would be making the arrests of his career tonight.

There was no happy ending for him.

There never could have been.

Hand on the knob, he turned, still covering his eyes and the hated tears that were stinging exhausted lids.

That was when the book hit his shoulder.

With a thud it landed on the cold tile floor.

The book he'd given Mathew for Christmas.

And behind it on the floor Gilbert could see two socked feet.

"You. Idiot."

Mathew stood, one hand back, bracing himself against the bed, the other, clearly having just thrown the book, came to rest on his right hip. Blue eyes locked on to crimson as he spoke, punctuating each word with force as he paused between them,

"You. Should. Go. - _Go. Into. Hiding._" Seeing his love's red eyes widen in shock, Mathew went on, determined to leave no room for misunderstanding. "Take. The. Key. I. Gave. You. Go. To. My. House. Stay there." He paused, sighing. "I know why you did," the words were coming smoother now as he got his heart rate under control, "what you did."

Suddenly Mathew was enveloped in his lover's arms again, arms clad in a jacket still chilly from the ride. He breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of his man's clothes, which smelled particularly strongly of alcohol, soot, and gunpowder. "You are as stupid," he found the striking red irises he loved again, "as…my brother... sometimes."

"Ja, I guess so…" Gilbert felt the smile crack across his face despite his weariness.

"You have. The address?" Mathew asked, "It. was. with. the key."

"Ja." Patting his jacket, Gilbert nodded. He had put the key and the paper with Matt's address in his inner pocket on Christmas and there it had stayed since.

The Canadian sat back against the bed behind him, pulling with both hands on the lapels of his German love's jacket till Gilbert's face was an inch from his own. He wanted to say that he knew what Gilbert had done tonight would weigh on his shoulders forever, that he'd lose sleep over it, that what he had done couldn't have been easy, that he knew it meant Gilbert would never see Ludwig again. Mathew had had his own fears of losing his only brother; he shuddered to imagine it again. He also knew Gilbert had surely just gone from the one Feliciano wanted kept alive to being his most hated enemy. He wanted to tell him how silly he'd been for thinking he wouldn't understand.

To express all he wanted would take too long; it was simply too much to say. The reality was, Gilbert did have to leave, and leave now; the sooner the better.

He would have to settle for the shortened version. "I love you."

Mathew's lips parted slightly as he pulled Gilbert in lower for a kiss before the other could answer. Soft warm lips met those chapped by the wind, comforting them with each second that passed. Gilbert's lips parted as well to let in the tongue that curled around his own as their kiss deepened.

Mathew's hands released the lapels of Gilbert's jacket to move up into the scarf and meet behind his neck as the German's hands on the mattress moved behind his seated love to grasp each side of the Canadian's hips.

The minutes seemed to last less than a second, and whether they wanted to or not, both knew they would have to part.

Gilbert's body rebelled against the voice that commanded him to stand, to break the kiss; it was with a sense of both relief and despair that he rose at last, Mathew having made the decision for him when he pulled his hands back from beneath Gilbert's scarf.

Their fingers locked together, each man looked to the other to act.

"Ich liebe dich auch." Gilbert stood fully and squeezed his love's hand before letting go. "Danke."

His chest expanded as he took a large breath of air. His smile returning, the pale German took on a commanding tone and looked to the chick that had settled happily in his Canadian's lap. "Gilbird, I expect you to protect Matt in my absence und to see to his safety until he brings you to me again."

Standing over the little bird as a general inspecting the troops, Gilbert spoke again, "Do you accept this order?"

Buoyed by the rolled eyes of his love as Mathew chuckled and Gilbird fluffed his feathers, the slightest of cheeps issuing from his beak, Gilbert smiled wider. "Sehr gut." He nodded once before looking around the room and starting again for the door - his heart, and steps, lighter than when he'd entered.

"I vill see you soon, mein Kuschelbär."

* * *

_End of Chapter 23! Stay tuned for Chapter 24 when we catch up with Ludwig and Feliciano, find out how Kiku and Katyusha are doing and what's in store for the future! I've already written half of it so hopefully you won't have to wait so long for the update! Again, I adore you all, I wait with baited breathe for your thoughts. Thanks, Grazie, Danke, Spasiba for reading my lovelies!  
_


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